Finding Home: Just Found Heaven, Bk 1.5 - 2. Chapter 2-Max

Max

 

"...I was only looking for a shortcut home... But it's complicated, so complicated... Somewhere in this city is a road I know, where we could make it... But maybe there's no making it now... Too long we've been denying... Now we're both tired of trying... We hit a wall, and we can't get over it... Nothing to relive, its water under the bridge... You said it, I get it... I guess it is what it is... I was only trying to bury the pain, but I made you cry, and I can't stop the crying... Was only trying to save me but I lost you again... Here it comes, ready or not... We both found out it's not how we thought that it would be, how it would be... If the time could turn us around, what was once lost may be found... But now there's nothing left to relive, its water under the bridge... I guess it is what it is..." -LifeHouse (It is What it Is)

 

THROUGHOUT my arduous educational journey towards becoming a doctor, I'd endured years of intense higher-level schooling and my competitive, overachieving ego had motivated me to bust my ass to consistently keep myself at the top of my classes so I graduated early and summa cum laude to boot. But despite my impressive medical pedigree and a general love for learning, there are an infinite number of things I know nothing about—from the true existence of God, to why slices cut from round pizzas end up in triangles. But the thing that I understood the least of the world’s great mysteries, was why my stupid heart had listened to my brain when it'd been pitched the idea that falling in love with my best friend—despite my epic commitment issues that could've sent a therapist's six or seven kids to college if I ever actually went to one—was the right move after years of distancing myself romantically from Sam by fucking anyone I could to keep us from becoming monogamous.

In medical school, biology had been one of the easiest subjects for me to grasp and as a result, I could tell anyone who was interested about human anatomy and how every organ with a major biological function and purpose to keep us going worked.

Our kidneys filter our blood and remove excess fluid from it while leaving just the right amount of salt and other minerals behind to maintain order and balance. Our lungs take in oxygen from the environment to transfer it into our bloodstream for useable purposes— aka, breathing. The human heart has the heaviest workload. It's responsible for pumping blood throughout our entire body and distributing food and oxygen to cells while it transports carbon dioxide to our lungs so it can help with that minor, afore mentioned need to breathe.

It's all simple biology. Unfortunately, the human heart is also the stupidest organ in an otherwise amazing machine because all too often it gets altruistic, and decides that fulfilling its intended clinical purpose isn't enough to make it feel validated. It doesn't just want to keep us alive. It also wants to make us happy. So, it colludes with both brain and pheromones to encourage the idea that what would really make people feel gratified is someone to share their lives, and the best parts of their anatomy with. All three innocently proclaim that emotional connections, interpersonal ties, and people to call home is what human beings really need to live full and enriched lives.

Otherwise known as extremely complicated shit.

Sam had been in love with me since we were sixteen and even though he'd always made that clear in more than just words, I'd taken his love for granted because my intimacy issues had always gotten the better of me. Issues that were deep enough to eventually sabotage our romantic relationship except for the occasional hookup. It'd hurt him, but it'd cost me too.

Taking a bullet for Sam without any hesitation had always been a given if it ever came to that, but I'd never been able to tell him until it was too late, that despite all my very public proclamations that I didn't like monogamy, a complete life with just him was all I'd ever wanted. Even a little over a year later I could still remember the look on Sam's face when I'd come home on leave and finally told him how I felt about him on Sofia’s porch— right before he'd introduced me to Ben and I’d gotten to see with my own eyes that even if Sam hadn’t been able to truly admit it to himself, his heart had already moved on.

Having to accept that was probably the most challenging thing I’d ever done. But standing in a beautiful hotel suite, playing into my role as best man and helping Sam get ready to marry the good, solid and devoted man who'd openly accepted all that love Sam had tried to give me, tore my fucking heart out. And all I could do was smile and pretend in front of the masses that I was just as happy for the nuptials as they were because losing Sam was all on me.

"Did you get tired of singing or are you just plotting your next round of giving me shit?"

Sam's teasing tone blessedly dragged me off a path that wouldn't lead anywhere good. It wasn't the time or place for an epic bout of self-pity. Today was about Sam and Ben, not about me mourning the consequences of momentous fuck-ups. Instead, I compartmentalized like a son-of-a-bitch and grinned at Sam, my voice drawling out smooth and easy, chock full all of my Louisiana sass to hide the hurt. The ladies of Steel Magnolias would've been proud. All southerners could keep the ugly away with our adopted gentility when we had to. It was practically a birthright to be able to add heaps of sugar to your bullshit. I'd been piling it on high ever since Sam had told me he'd proposed to Ben and Ben had said yes.

It shouldn't have surprised me because they were so obviously in love that it'd just been a matter of time before one of them popped the question. I just hadn't expected it to be Sam. Sam who’d looked at me with those navy-blue eyes showing tension around the edges of his smile. Sam's eyes had always been windows to his damn soul, so I'd manned up and volunteered myself as his best man so he wouldn’t have to ask. Then I'd hugged him and told him that there WOULD be strippers at his bachelor party. We’d both known I was joking because Sam had never been that type, but I'd needed to say something, anything, to make him laugh and break the tension between us. A tension that was a solid ninety-fiver-percent on me.

"Just goin’ through some mental tweakin’ of my best man speech," I said to get myself back on track. "I want to make sure that I remember all the details of every embarrassin’ story I plan to tell at the reception. By the end of the night, Ben's going to have a few more things to tease you about. So will every guest there. Forever and ever, amen."

Sam scowled and snorted as my grin deepened, but he didn't swat my hands away when I reached for his tie and slid it out from beneath his collar to free it from the twisted mess he'd made of the formal accessory. I shook the length of fabric out to straighten it, then slipped the tie around his neck again.

"Let me this this before you choke yourself out."

"All I have to do is look in a mirror and that sounds like a mercy kill."

I grinned when Sam wiggled the end of the tie, his lips twisting into a wry look.

I couldn't really disagree even to make him feel better because although I generally spent the better portion of my life in scrubs, I did love the embrace of a well-cut suit to spruce up my wardrobe. Accessories counted and a man's tie showed how he rolled— classic black for formal elegance. Power and status red when I needed to kick ass and take names like a boss. Blue to emphasize confident stability. I even owned a bright orange tie when I wanted to out and proud announce that I was just as open-minded and enthusiastic to wear said tangerine tie, as I was to have my hands bound to a bed frame with it.

The pale blue of Sam's tie wasn't horrible on its own, but with every high mexapixel camera phone in attendance at the wedding, someone was bound to capture the white snowflake pattern scattered over the fabric with happy abandon—a bold statement that clearly said he hadn't dressed himself.

Snow wasn't common in Florida even in December, but after Sam and Ben had formally announced their engagement at weekly family dinner at Sofia's house five months ago, after Sam had told me first, Sam's little niece Emma had decided that a December wedding had to feel like winter, even when it was almost always in the sunny sixties and seventies with not a flurry in sight. Combined with her renewed obsession with Disney's Frozen—the consequence of a regrettable move on Sam's part to let the kid watch the movie again a few months before the engagement on one of their movie nights—it'd been all about Sam and Ben 'letting go,' of most of the say in their wedding planning.

The entire event was inundated with festively lit Christmas trees, hot chocolate with extra marshmallow for all guests under twenty-one, and cocoa heavily spiked with rumchatta for the adults—that had been my one suggestion— to create the winter wonderland theme that Emma had insisted would be 'perfect!' The kid could sell ice to an Eskimo and her uncle was a sucker for her big brown eyes and puppy dog pout. As a result, we'd all allowed our balls to shrivel up in resigned shame as we rocked snow flurries on our ties since mine and Ben's matched Sam's. Thankfully, both Sofie and Addie had intervened as much as they could to discreetly adult Emma's vision of wedding rapture so the pattern was subtle on the icy blue background. Paired against our slim, modern cut gray suits that had a faint, silvery metallic sheen to the fabric, they looked reasonably sharp as long as you didn't stand too close. There wasn't much that could be done to disguise the fact that the roses in our boutonnieres were set around plastic 'ice crystals' and a sizeable snowflake, but Emma's unfettered joy at seeing her vision realized when she'd come into Sam's hotel room earlier in the morning to show off her flower girl dress, had made Sam smile and that alone was worth a few hours of fashion suicide as far as I was concerned.

There was also the fact that Tara, Sofia and Adelyn had been turned into virtual Barbie dolls, with Tara being the star of Emma's vision as the epitome of the icy blonde Disney queen in the flesh. I'd seen her maid-of-honor dress when Tara had modeled it for me at her final fitting, cursing like a sailor in between her sighs of self-pity. My new best friend was feminine and gorgeous, but far from a traditional fashion plate. Unfortunately to her misfortune and my endless amusement, she couldn't deny Emma anything either.

"You need to survive the weddin’ so you can show off your, ‘somethin’ blue’ to Ben.”

Sam rolled his eyes and I grinned as I watched color slowly crawling up his cheeks and down his neck as I reminded him of the blue titanium nipple rings that I’d gotten him as a private peekaboo present for Ben later. Granted, I was also torturing myself thinking about how they’d look poking through Sam’s tight pink nipples, but I was trying.

“How do you know I have them on?”

“Because I know you, Sammy,” I said, winking when my use of his old nickname earned me an affectionately annoyed look. “Your soul’s a corkscrew and we both know Ben will be happy to use tongue and teeth to a level of skill that would scandalize standard nuns, monks, and priests alike.”

“You’re such an ass, Max,” Sam said, but he was grinning.

“Tara routinely says the same thing. She-beast. I wonder how many photos I’ll manage to post on my Facebook page of her in her Disney inspired glory before she tears my balls off.”

“I’ll be shocked if she doesn’t hide your phone later,”

“She already tried. I threatened to put it down my pants.”

Sam lifted an eyebrow and I grinned since we both knew that wouldn’t stop my favorite lesbian. “And then I ran up here to check on you and was tasked with getting’ a photo of you lookin’ all ready for your romantic perp walk.”

I knotted Sam's tie expertly, smoothing it down into place before I did the same to the lapels of his suit jacket. The glide of my hand down the front of his chest was casual and appropriate to the situation since I was straightening out his suit, though I had to work hard at ignoring the chiding voice of truth resonating in my conscience—this was probably my last opportunity to touch Sam this intimately because even though my thoughts were my own and my brain occasionally tortured me at night with dreams so vivid that I could still feel Sam's caresses on my skin when I woke up alone in bed, touching him after he was married with this level of desire for him to be mine, was cheating. Maybe not physically, but emotionally for sure, and that was wrong even in my book of occasionally skewed morality.

Ben and Sam trusted me. Or at least Sam did. Ben wasn't stupid and I saw the way he sometimes looked at me when I was around Sam. He was a good man— open and forgiving, but he wasn't a saint. He knew how I felt about Sam, but neither of us had ever brought up the elephant in the room and I wasn't a homewrecker.

The content relaxation in Sam’s expression whenever he was around Ben radiated open and honest emotions that for probably the first time in his life, weren’t hidden beneath his usual stoic defaults. The only other time I'd ever seen Sam that relaxed was around me— before I'd pushed him so far away that even his determined sense of loyalty couldn't help him navigate through the wall of nameless strangers that I'd shoved between us to keep him from seeing just how much I’d wanted to accept all the love and trust he'd been willing to give me because I didn’t feel worthy of it.

When the opportunity had been presented for me to tell Sam I wanted him, I’d told him to give Ben a chance instead. I’d never expected Sam to actually follow through. Despite his arrangement with Devlin and the very occasional clandestine hook up, Sam had never wanted a monogamous relationship with anyone except me. My arrogant, stupid, selfish ass had assumed that’d always be the case because until Ben, every other guy Sam had been with had been a placeholder for me. That ship had officially sailed the moment Sam and Ben lost the latex.

The old preacher in my small Louisiana church had routinely said in his Sunday sermons that pride cometh before the fall and that grizzled old geezer's words had been resonating in my head on repeat for months

I exhaled slowly, letting my hand fall away from the lapel of Sam's jacket before I met his eyes. “There we go. You can’t knot a tie for shit, but you did good with choosin’ Ben. Aside from you, he's the greatest guy I know and he loves you with every breath that he takes. I’m proud of you getting’ here you know. " I paused for a moment, my voice unintentionally quieter than before when I added, "I know you always thought you wouldn't get a second chance Sam, but Ben’s it. Always remember that I believe that if you ever doubt your own judgement."

And fucking PS, I love you.

I offered him a crooked smile and saw recognition and a new gentleness slide through Sam's eyes. He knew what this was costing me. He and Ben were in love, but a part of his heart would always keep a piece of me in it. It wasn't a romantic love anymore, but still an equally deep affection and loyalty between two people whose lives were always going to be unequivocally linked.

"Thanks Max," Sam said, his voice almost as soft as mine as he leaned into my space for a moment, his forehead resting against mine as our breathing synced like it used to when I'd been the only person who'd been able to bring him back to center when he was spiraling. That was Ben's job from now on, but I let the weight of Sam's hand on my shoulder mirror the touch of my hand on his opposite shoulder, both of us lingering for a few more seconds before I pulled away and took both a mental and physical step back.

"Nothin’ to thank me for. I'll always have your back Sam and I wouldn't trust you with just anyone. I trust Ben."

My smile was steadier this time as I started expertly triaging my emotions like I would've done with a sudden rash of emergencies popping up all at once in a hospital ER.

"So, you're goin’ to walk down that aisle— which will be drowned in a sea of rose petals because of one exuberant flower girl who convinced her uncle Sam that she needed 'extra so she wouldn't run out'—and marry the sexiest priest I know. Granted he's the only priest I know well other than Father McNally," I said, mirroring Sam's immediate grin as I brought up the grizzled, pious pastor of the church I'd attended with my family after moving to Florida. Sam's family hadn't been very religious, but he'd gone with us a few times so I knew he remembered the man who'd tried to convince me at my last private confession when I was seventeen, that God was going to make my dick fall off for, 'frivolous fornication.' He hadn't approved of me sticking it in as many places as I happily had been once puberty had started my dropping-of-drawers phenomenon.

"Ben will pray for your immortal soul," Sam said, his grin deepening when I snorted and turned away to check my own suit in the mirror. I smoothed my hand down the length of my tie, the material silky beneath my palm...

***

(Flashback)

I'd been repeating the mantra of keeping my fucking hands to myself over and over again after Sam and Ben had left and I’d gone upstairs to shower and change so I could join the gang for a night of clubbing I was completely uninterested in. The last thing I wanted to see after ridiculously long international flights, was Ben wrapped up all around Sam on a dance floor. But with A.J. and Sofia going, I didn’t have the option to call it a night. Especially not after Tara had made it transparent as hell that even then, she'd seen right through me sized up the subtly tense situation between Sam and I in less than ten minutes, whereas Sam hadn't even suspected how I felt about him for well over a decade. With all those components in place, a change of scenery might be the best way to triage tonight and an upscale nightclub was a good place to get lost in a night of hedonism on the dance floor with a partner willing to extend the evening to a hotel room with a sturdy bed and a decent mattress. Meaningless sex would at least temporarily numb out the sting of reality. Triage was all about the here and now and finding a partner to tear up the dance floor with before we moved my pity party somewhere more private where I could I let him pound the emotional ouch out through my ass, was the only game plan I had to work with right now.

It was a game plan I'd been all on board with before I got to my room. Unfortunately, my plans had been derailed when I'd gone to grab dark rinse jeans and a leaf green button down out of my knapsack. Beneath the clothing had been the small, burgundy velvet bag tucked beside my spare socks and boxer briefs where I'd placed it in Afghanistan. I exhaled slowly as I picked up the bag. Instead of housing a ring like the appearance of the bag might've suggested to most people, the second of my set of military-issued dog tags fell out into my hand when I unlaced the strings and shook out the bag.

The chain attached to the tag was a lightly twisted, brushed stainless steel design of much higher quality than the ones given to military personal because I'd bought it specifically for Sam from a jewelry store three weeks ago. I'd purchased the chain with the hope that he'd end up wearing it around his neck tonight to match the one still hanging around my own neck. Instead, I'd be stringing the tag back onto my own chain, then throwing the one I'd bought for Sam into the trash since I didn't have access to napalm...

***

I released my tie and rubbed my hand over my own face instead because my thought processes were beginning to play out like the worst possible B level movie plotline— guy realizes on the morning of his best friend's wedding that he's been in love with him for years and starts an endless stream of internal monologues and montages of woulda, coulda, shoulda. It was absolutely fucking pointless.

Get. It. Together.

My brain ignored my silent, clenched jaw command as I moved to the mini fridge to grab a bottle of water, setting it on the nightstand closest to Sam before I took out a second one for myself. I held it and the cigarette I filched from the pack I'd purchased about a week ago, up at Sam to indicate that I was taking a smoke break out on the balcony. Sam gave me a disapproving look even though he'd smoked like a chimney before Ben had helped him quit. I shrugged and managed to free up one finger to indicate that I'd be back soon, then headed outside and closed the balcony door behind me.

I hadn't smoked heavily since I was a teenager, but I'd picked up the habit again shortly after coming back home. Publicly, I blamed the poor lifestyle choice on the stress of working in a new hospital ER in urban Miami and all of the late-night double shifts I'd been pulling as the new guy. I joked that I couldn't drink on the job so nicotine had to do even though I suspected that everyone in my inner circle who knew about my past romantic history with Sam, knew exactly why I'd actually picked up the habit again.

Muggy warmth wrapped around me immediately, gnawing through my lightweight suit though it wasn't as hot as it would be later in the afternoon. The temperature alone should've made me rethink taking a siesta moment to damage my lungs one puff at a time, but I needed a moment to clear my head. After putting the pack of cigarettes down on the small bistro table outside, I opened the water bottle to take a long drink of the cold liquid. I'd have preferred taking a shot of bourbon from the silver flask in my inside jacket pocket, but I doubted that would go over well if Sam happened to come outside for any reason. It was also a little too country song poetic for me. I'd grown up with country music and though I preferred hard rock and jazz now, lyrics from a country song I'd heard recently when I'd been flipping through radio stations on my drive home for work, suddenly decided to make themselves at home in my head.

-I'll wear my black suit, black tie, hide out in the back... I'll do a strong shot of whiskey straight out of the flask... I'll try to make it through without crying so nobody sees.... Yeah, she wants to get married, but she don't wanna marry me....-

Thomas Rhett had hit it on the head on that one. Even though my suit was silver the sentiment was still the same. He didn't want to marry me.

Exhaling, I put the plastic water bottle back down on the table, then tapped out a cigarette from the pack. I had it lit within seconds and took a long drag, holding it for as long as my lungs could handle the burn before I slowly released it. I watched the smoke lazily curling slowly towards the sky and reluctantly allowed my mind to drift...

 

***

(Flashback)

"Max, we need to talk."

I turned when I heard my name, temporarily pausing my mission of stirring up the questionably warm, bright orangey red contents of my little container of microwavable Chef Boyardee’s spaghetti and meatballs with a plastic spork.

I'd been working ridiculously long hours since starting my residency a few years ago so I'd gotten used to eating less than healthy, but speedy meals that I could scarf down while standing up and looking through patient charts if I had to. Chef Boyardee was a favorite of mine because of childhood nostalgia, though I kept from reading the ingredients label. Not because I really cared about the health sins of over-processed foods and the atrocity of red dyes, but because as a doctor I needed to at least pretend to be a wellness warrior. Out of sight meant out of mind at times like this. I also got a secret, stupidly teenage sense of perverse satisfaction when I ate it because the little meatballs were balls I could enjoy having in my mouth in a public place without the worry of sexual harassment charges lodged against like they would've been if said balls had been attached to a person.

I was a brilliant doctor. I also had the filthy mind of a happy hedonist.

My eyebrow lifted when I saw my attending surgeon standing behind me in the otherwise empty staff lounge.

Dr. Morgan Chappelle had probably been a tall drink of dark and handsome water in his youth because some remnants of those days were still visible in his long, broad-shouldered frame that was still fit even though his gunmetal gray hair was streaked heavily with bright silver and his face was creased heavily around his eyes and lips with laugh lines. He lived by the famous adage of walking softly and carrying a big stick, but since he was happily married and old enough to be my father, I never had any intention of finding out just how big his stick actually was. Though my sexual kinks were many, saggy old balls would never have my love even if I respected Morgan immensely.

I'd been smiling as I turned around—my polite default when dealing with any co-worker, but especially my boss since I liked my job and competition was fierce among the residents to land the few, and therefore very coveted permanent spots on the hospital's surgical teams. I felt the smile slip when my brain—which was used to working in high-energy, emergency situations that required quick thinking—registered the tight set to Morgan's strong jaw.

My mentor's brown eyes were clouded with tension and locked straight on my face. He'd been a doctor for over thirty years and most of that had been spent first as a field medic, then in emergency trauma units. He was one of the calmest, most level-headed people I'd ever met— nearly impossible to rattle. One day I hoped to master that same calm which translated visually as complete confidence in front of patients who were already agitated because they were in pain. But apparently even when you had mastery over your emotions, there were some things bad enough to force you back into training wheels.

This wasn't good. If there'd been an emergency with one of my patients, I'd have been paged over the loudspeaker. Whatever this was, it was personal. Especially because he'd called me Max, not Dr. Melone like he did when we were in public and not sharing dinner with his wife, Nadine, outside of the hospital. I felt my heart drop somewhere into the suddenly tight pit of my stomach.

"Dr. Chappelle...what's wrong?"

I had to hand it to him. Morgan didn't drag things out to spare my feelings.

"Sargent Tramell and his team were ambushed in the field by enemy combatants. There were mass casualties, but he and the remaining survivors of his team were medavacced here about forty-five minutes ago."

I considered myself cool under pressure when it came to most things, but suddenly there wasn't enough air in the room for me to suck in and smash through the instant panic that clenched my heart in a vise. My knees buckled and Morgan grabbed my left arm to help steady me before he pushed me firmly into a nearby, metal-backed chair while I tried to remember how to get my lungs to work. The little orange container of questionably nutritious pasta splattered across the shiny white linoleum floor with the vividity of movie magic blood after it fell from my shaking hands. Some of the sauce got on both my sneakers and Morgan's shoes, but working in the ER meant both of us had been splashed with worse.

"Is Sam alive?" My voice sounded thick and foreign in my ears, like I had a frog stuck in my throat.

"Yes, he is. I'm not sure how many of the others are, but all the survivors are our highest priority. Sam's in surgery right now. He was severely injured, but he was alive when he was rushed into the OR."

I exhaled slowly. "What's Sam's prognosis? Tell me the truth, Morgan."

Professional propriety went out the window because I needed to hear it straight. From previous experiences with other injured soldiers, I knew damn well that if Sam and his men had arrived via medavacc and immediately rushed into surgery, it wasn't good.

Shit had gone sideways out there.

"Sam was shot multiple times. The most concerning injury is a left shoulder shot that nicked an artery on its way out and one in his abdomen that didn’t exit so it’ll have to be extracted. He also sustained a gunshot below his ribcage on the right side, but that was a through and through. He lost a lot of blood and his stats were low when they took him to the OR, but he was alive," he reiterated. "Dr. Tallon is the lead surgeon. Sam's in good hands Max."

I nodded, trusting the simple physical mechanics of that movement more than my voice. I'd protected Sam most of our lives from bullies and assholes including his brother, but even I couldn't stop bullets.

I wasn't anyone's fucking superman.

After a few slow, forced exhalations after dropping my head between my legs to regain my composure, I glanced up at Morgan. "Why am I just findin’ out about this?"

"Because I wanted you to hear it from me when I actually had some news to give you. I know the two of you are close. You're his emergency contact."

“I'm also his medical proxy."

I briefly closed my eyes because I didn't want to see sympathy in Morgan's eyes. Even though Sam was closeted, everyone I worked with knew that Sam and I'd been friends since we were kids. I'd taken zoom calls from him a few times in the staff lounge when he could get the time to talk and I'd actually had time to eat warm microwavable mac n' cheese. Morgan didn’t know exactly how close we actually were behind closed doors, but we both knew the responsibility that being Sam’s proxy would put on me if things went south and he ended up on life support.

I exhaled slowly again. I was working like son-of-a-bitch to keep my voice steady. Falling apart even under extreme duress had never been my style but this was Sam... my best friend, my family and the same man whom I'd last seen in person in a motel parking lot the last time we'd been together while he was on leave. We'd kissed goodbye ,then I'd walked away, pretending that I hadn't heard him when he'd murmured, 'I love you,' under his breath.

I'd fucking heard him in stereo, but he didn't know that and now I could lose him before I ever got up the nerve to say it back in a way that mattered.

"I'm on call to assist just in case they need me," Morgan continued. "I'll call you as soon as Sam’s out of surgery and in recovery. He'll probably be in the ICU for a while and I'll make sure you're allowed to stay with him if you want to. You might have to switch off with his brother though if he wants to see him. He also survived the ambush and is Sam's next of kin."

On some level as a decent human being, I should've been relieved to hear that Connor was alive. Despite being a general pain in my ass because of some of the shit he put Sam through, Connor had been a part of my life for as long as Sam had.

I wasn’t relieved and definitely not thrilled. Connor having any rights to Sam simply because of genetics was bullshit. They shared DNA, but the one always there for Sam in good times and bad was me, not Connor and I knew that once I got into Sam's room with him, I wasn't going to want to leave until Sam was able to walk out with me for a drink to celebrate both his survival and his new battle scars.

As Sam's proxy, I could force legalities and deny Connor access to Sam in any capacity if I could argue it would do Sam harm. Morgan knew that, but my contentious relationship with Connor was something I kept to myself just like I did Sam's queer status. Inside a hospital under these circumstances wasn't the time to air our dirty laundry when the stink could end up clinging to Sam because it’d raised questions about why I wouldn't let Sam's only brother have access to him. I still hated it.

"Promise you'll call me as soon as you know somethin’."

"I will. I've also arranged for another doctor to take over your patients for the next few days until we have a better sense of what's going on. You won't be good to anyone right now. Just take a walk, breathe and just have faith."

That was easier said than done, but I allowed Morgan to hug me quickly with firm pats to both shoulders that were meant to steady me, though his former days of recreational boxing shook my own frame a bit—forever Army strong.

I made sure my pager was clipped to my belt and my cell was in my pocket, then watched Morgan as he moved away toward the trauma unit in long legged strides. He probably would've stayed if I'd asked him to, but the longer that I that I kept him with me answering questions and holding my hand like a little girl was more time that I was keeping a top surgeon and his medical expertise away from Sam. Now that I knew Sam was alive, my panic was giving way to my natural sense of pragmatism and I wanted the best possible people working on him. I trusted that Morgan would do everything in his power to save Sam and that allowed me to focus on keeping my shit together long enough to grill Connor when I eventually found him. I needed to know exactly what’d happened out there.

I walked into the staff bathroom to wash my hands and splash cold water on my face. By the third wave of icy droplets on my skin, the heat in my ears had receded enough for me to meet my own blue-green eyes in the mirror with steady intention as I dried my face with the raspy paper towels that should've been relegated to some old-world, medieval torture chamber. I chucked the wadded-up paper towel into the small metal wastebasket mounted to the wall, then moved out into the main wing of the hospital. Morgan had suggested that I take a walk, but leaving the hospital for any amount of time was out of the question. My mind was moving in a hundred different directions and always circled back to Sam. I couldn't help him right now though and didn't have many other options except one, even if it wouldn't normally be my first choice.

I'd never been big on religion even though my parents had raised me Baptist. I'd chosen to be baptized when I was seventeen, mostly to appease my mama who'd thought that having a religious baseline would tempter my teenage hormones. It hadn't worked. God apparently didn't discourage horniness no matter how well you were raised. I'd been to church a few times over the years, mostly when I was home, but I'd always wondered with some amusement if I'd just be taken out one day by a ball of wrathful fire as soon as I got within sight of the altar. Nothing happened now though as I entered the quiet hospital chapel.

There was usually one chaplain available, but I didn't see anyone except an older couple who were sitting side by side in the very front pew on the left side of the chapel. As I sat to the right in a middle pew that was almost diagonal to their spot, I could see their lips moving. I wasn't close enough to hear their words, but after watching the woman's thin lips for a moment and then glancing down at the beads twined around her bony fingers, I realized that she was praying the rosary.

The hospital chapel was nondenominational, open to all who just needed a few pews and soft lighting to try and gather their thoughts when the fate of their loved ones was uncertain.

My own empty hands flexed restlessly on my knees as I tried to get comfortable on the padded bench that was cushier on my ass than the hard wooden benches I'd grown up sitting on throughout my childhood. The padding was a small mercy because my scrubs were thin. They wouldn't have been much help against the bare wood and I didn't know how long I'd actually be sitting here.

Morgan had said that Sam was in surgery because he'd been shot three times, one serious and I knew from experience that if Sam had been rushed straight into the OR without the usual planned surgery prep, it had to be bad. Worse than anything that had ever happened to him before.

Men and women in any military branch of the US Special Forces were an elite kind of tough, but surprise IED attacks were something not even they could ever completely plan for. Sam was an active Army Ranger so this wasn't the first time he'd been injured. His broad, hard body was littered with various badges of evidence of the past pain from an active military life, as well as the scars left by his abusive prick of a father during his childhood. I knew each of those scars as well as I knew the blemishes on my own body. I'd explored every single one of them hundreds of times over the years when Sam and I'd been in bed together, but I'd never caressed scars from true bullet wounds. Sam had been grazed along his leg by a bullet once, but somehow he'd miraculously never been shot before. Not a true flesh piercing shot. And he'd never been never injured to any degree that had required him to be rushed into emergency surgery.

I leaned back against the pew to center myself. I couldn't afford to fall apart. Sam needed me to be strong because God only knew what condition he'd be in when he got out of surgery. As a surgeon I knew that even minor surgeries could encounter major complications no matter how good the operating surgeon was. Even if Sam survived, he'd probably have a long recovery ahead of him.

Don't fucking go there, Max. There is NO IF. It's WHEN, damnit. It's fucking WHEN Sam survives this.

I leaned forward, letting my head fall between my hands. Not because it was a prayer pose, but because it was a step above having my head between my legs which is where it wanted to be right now. Cold air was thinner near the floor and I needed to get as far away as I could from the overwhelming heat flooding my head..

"God, I know you're probably ready to send my guardian angels on a long, well-deserved sabbatical," I murmured aloud, "but instead I'm askin’, no, I'm BEGGIN’ even though I know I don't have any right to, that you send them to watch over Sam instead. He does deserve their protection and Your grace. All he's ever tried to do is protect other people, even at his own expense. He doesn't deserve to go out like this. He's my best friend and the best man I know." I paused, then swallowed hard around the sudden lump in my throat. "And he's the only person I love so much that his loss would completely end me."

I ignored the trapped sting of tears behind my closed eyelids. "So please, just get him through this and help me to be there for him in every way I can.... Maybe finally in the way he's always wanted me to be. The way that I want to be. Please."

I lost track of how long I sat there after I'd finished my plea because keeping track of the time just meant knowing how complicated Sam's surgery was if it took more than a few hours. There were no windows in the chapel to let the outside sky track time for me, but I was vaguely aware of when the couple left. Another elderly man came in for a bit, then also left so I was alone again, waiting for the call that would tell me if my world would keep spinning or completely stop.

"Max?"

I glanced up because I recognized the male voice immediately. Connor sounded almost like Sam, though in scrub pants and a hospital sweatshirt, some of the identical twin effect was lost. The last time that I'd seen Sam, he'd been wearing army fatigues because he'd been leaving our stateside hotel room where'd kept him naked for almost 24 hours before we’d started leaving the room long enough to enjoy the rest of it. But this wasn't the time for that kind of trip down memory lane because I honestly didn't want to overlap the last time I'd been with Sam, with having to deal with Connor who I hadn't seen in even longer. Not since the barfight he'd started years ago that’d almost gotten us all arrested.

I swept Connor with a quick visual appraisal, surprised to feel the mildest sense of relief after all. Maybe it was because he looked so much like Sam, or maybe I did still give some kind of shit about the man who created so much chaos. During most of the time I’d known him, ‘pain in my fucking ass’ wasn't a strong enough phrase to define how I felt about Connor ninety-percent of the time. He was often a stressor for Sam, always had been, so he was one for me too by default. But at least the fucker was alive and I was saved having to chastise myself later for cheerfully dancing on his grave if he'd been KIA.

His regulation buzzed hair was sun-lightened and his face was scrubbed clean though he looked pale beneath his desert tan. The white sling keeping his right arm elevated looked stark against the dark material of his t-shirt.

"Good to see you're alive, but you look like shit." Rude, but it was all I could manage.

"Better than the others. Sam, Devlin, A.J. and me were the only ones who made it out.... Micky, Tate, Tommy... they're all gone," he said, his voice hollow. "We got ambushed and scattered as we tried to get away from the explosions. We didn't have any intel about the area being hot and all of a sudden, we were under attack. We ran for cover wherever we could find it. Sam, Devlin, A.J., Micky and Tommy got pinned together. I got back to the village with Tate because we were in the last Humvee, but he was hit and gone by the time I dragged him into a house."

He scrubbed both hands over his sparse hair, probably the most rattled I'd ever seen him. Connor had always lived by a ‘fuck the world’ devil-may-care attitude, but right now, he was shook. So was I, because what he was describing was worse than I'd imagined.

"What happened out there?"

"They hit the front first, then came at us hard. I managed to get Sam on the coms and he came for me with Devlin and A.J. Sam got shot while they were making their way to me. He'd already been hit twice after all hell broke loose. He could barely walk...."

Sam had barely been able to walk and yet he'd still gone under enemy fire to save Connor. I wasn’t surprised. He’s always defended his brother whether it was taking on their father, or defending Connor's stupid ass when he got Sam involved in whatever stupid shit he'd gotten himself into.

I could feel my fists tightening on my lap, but I kept my cool. "He's still alive. That's all that matters."

"Yeah," Connor agreed before he added. "He's in the ICU right now knocked out with sedatives, but he survived the surgery and the doctors think he'll make a full recovery. Devlin’s with him."

My head shot up immediately to meet Connor's eyes straight on as that sudden dump of information registered. My phone hadn’t run and I didn’t see a text from Morgan before I looked back up at Connor again.

"What? How the fuck did you find out? Morgan was supposed to let me know as soon as Sam was out of surgery. And why the fuck is Dev up there?"

"I intercepted the operating doctor in the hallway," Connor said, as if my expression told him I was about to officially lose my shit.

"I'm Sam's brother so he couldn't not tell me, Max. I needed to know and I told him that I'd find you and tell you myself."

I ignored his attempt at justifying his actions. On paper someone might be able to make the argument that Connor's reaction was valid, but I knew that it was just another way to go behind my back like he always had when he felt like he was losing control over any situation involving Sam. The name Trammell was synonymous with fucking codependence.

"I repeat, why the fuck is Devlin with him?"

"Because I told his surgeon that Dev is Sam's partner."

My blood pressure shot to levels that’d probably concern every doctor and nurse in this hospital if they'd been taking my vitals right now.

"You fuckin’ OUTED Sam? WHAT. THE. ACTUAL. FUCK, Connor?!"

The civility I'd been trying to maintain between us for the sake of appearances, exploded like Mount St. Helen and my elevated tone promised just as much wrath was about to rain down in this small chapel, as it had on that mountainside.

I’d been out of the closet since I was fourteen. I'd enjoyed the clumsy, experimental fumblings of a typical teenager and by the time I was sixteen, I was proudly flying my age-inappropriate—but by then pretty skilled—freak flag with half the student body of both chromosomes. I hadn't discriminated between teams back then and still didn't. Holes of all kinds meant a good time when used right. But Sam had been hiding the fact he liked his hot dogs without the bun for his entire life.

I'd tried convincing him many times that despite the unspoken military expectation of all of their recruits being as hetero as possible, Sam was a fucking decorated Army Ranger and no one would care. Unfortunately, he'd never believed me so I'd kept his secret.

And now Connor had fucking outed him.

"It's fine, Max. Doctor patient confidentiality means that no one can say anything. HIPPA law. You know that."

He was technically correct. Despite how irritated I was with Morgan right now for not giving me a heads up, I knew that he'd take Sam's secret to his grave. And I knew he'd make sure Dr. Tallon kept his mouth shut too. But I also knew that there was a reason that so many TV melodramas took place in hospitals. When you dealt with life and death in equal measure on a daily basis, gossip was a way to detach from your own reality. That meant that someone would eventually find out about Sam if I didn't get Dev out of their ASAP. The ICU was for family and significant others only, or for medical proxies like me unless the rare exception was made. Devlin, as one of the few survivors from Sam's unit might've qualified if the request had been made because this was a military hospital and anyone who'd been in combat could understand the need of a soldier to check on one of their injured brothers in arms. But now we had to worry that if someone less discreet found out Dev and Sam were sleeping together, the entire goddamn hospital staff would be privy to the information.

"Doctor-patient confidentiality applies to medical records and medical and mental health information, not personal relationships that usually become staffroom gossip, you impulsive asshole!"

Connor's expression darkened and the haunted hollow look he'd had before as he'd faced his own mortality, morphed into the ugly belligerence I was more familiar with.

"Devlin wanted to see him and you know they've been sleeping together for months. He's had Sam's back this entire time. They're in the same unit and just lost a lot of people. He has the right to be here for Sam now if he wants to be."

"And that could've happened without outin’ him if you'd talked to me first Connor. This isn't a civilian hospital. An exception would’ve been relatively easy to make considerin’ the circumstances. But you didn't think, as usual." I scrubbed both of my hands over my face. My control was starting to unravel. "You know that if Sam was lucid, he wouldn't want this. Devlin knows that too."

"And you think that you know what Sam would want?"

"Yeah, I know because I've ALWAYS put Sam first! He matters more to me than anyone else does and I'm going to triage this shitshow as soon as this conversation is over."

"If you care so much then why the fuck haven't you ever told Sam how you feel about him? Sam would out himself in a heartbeat for you."

Connor held up a hand to shut me down, eyes blazing with a fury I rarely saw in Sam's identical ones. Sam had always been the steady and stoic one. It'd made it easy to tell them apart.

"Don't deny it Max because I can see it even if my brother can't. You're right. Dev is a stand-in because Sam can't have you. They both know that and have always been upfront about it, while you shut Sam down every time he's worked up enough courage to ask you to stay." He nodded slightly when he saw me tense. "Yeah, I know about that. Sam's my brother and he talks to me even though I know you hate it. Just like you'd hate knowing that those conversations are mostly about you even though I don't get the fucking appeal." Connor met my eyes defiantly. "You think I'm a fuck-up and I think you're a tight-ass except when you're fucking everything that moves to distract Sam from the fact you drop everything for him whenever he really needs you. You love him as much as he loves you. But unless you say it out loud, you're going to have to deal with the stand-ins like Devlin."

"Fuck you Connor. This isn't about me and Sam."

Connor snorted derisively. "Yeah, it is and you need to man the fuck up. Sam's stuck in fucking limbo because YOU can't figure out what you want. Who's the real asshole here?"

All civility was lost now in the competitional octaves of our voices as we tried to drown each other out, our volume intensified by our personal rages. I felt mine was justified because Sam was hurt and might have an entire new world of shit to deal with between the aftermaths of his injuries, possibly being outed and dealing with those consequences. As his best friend I had every right in the world to be pissed off on his behalf. Connor was just an angry, damaged asshole. Maybe an asshole who'd made a few valid points, but that didn't negate the asshole status.

I didn't realize I'd swung a silent left hook towards Connor's face until I felt the hard line of his jaw scraping beneath my knuckles. He wasn't expecting the blow. I'd always been scrappy, but in my adult years I'd tried to become more lover than fighter. Especially when I was in a professional capacity. Losing it in the middle of the hospital would've been a major no-no, though I was pretty sure that none of the deities that people came to worship at the chapel would appreciate me handing Connor his ass here either.

I didn't care.

I was done.

My second punch knocked Connor back into the pew. By the time I swung a third time, his freshly scrubbed face was covered with the same blood that was smeared all over my knuckles. After blinking, he finally snapped out of the wtf stupor haze that got even seasoned fighters into trouble in professional rings.

Connor rolled off the wooden pew onto the ground, but it was a good defensive strategy since the space was only wide enough for kneeling and the subtle backward slope of the wooden bench in front kept me from getting down to his level easily. It did however, give Connor a tight enough hidey hole to protect his soft spots—ribs, belly and balls— while he kicked out hard. Even though he was wearing sneakers not combat boots, Connor knew how to fight dirty. Pain swept through my right ankle and my lips carried that pain out in an explosive litany of expletives. When I stumbled back out of the pew to put some distance between us, Connor recovered and pounced me like a goddamn deranged Tigger. We went down hard on the wooden floor of the chapel and a new wave of pain exploded in the back of my head when it connected with the floor that was less forgiving in its flexibility than any deity looking on.

My vision blurred briefly and Connor took advantage of that momentary disorientation to throw punches that I managed to block with my arms folded up over my face to protect it. Unfortunately, that left my ribs open for Connor to pummel with a few solid blows before I managed to get my bearings and roll up like a damn armadillo to knee him under the jaw. When Connor's head jerked back, I attacked again and rolled us so that he was beneath me.

When I'd been in similar positions with Sam, my knees locked tight around his hips, it'd always been because I'd been riding his dick like it was my personal pogo stick. But right now, I was gripping Connor's hips with my body just to keep him pinned as I rained down a fury of aggressive punches that were just as furious on my own behalf as on Sam's. This was becoming less about Sam than it was about my own years living with barely repressed resentment towards both Connor and myself on some level. Because he was right—I should've manned up years ago.

The remaining rational part of my brain tried to get through to me, telling me to stop this fucking madness, but common sense was falling onto ears as deaf as a toddler's when they were ignoring a command they didn't like.

When I was suddenly yanked off of Connor whose face was a bloody mess between what was dripping from his nose and his newly split lip, I lashed out, struggling blindly against the strong arms holding me back until Morgan's voice registered. I immediately stopped fighting and when Morgan came around to face me, but I still remained restrained, I knew it wasn't him holding me back.

I was breathing heavily and the pain in my ribs was beginning match the pulsing throb in my ankle. I could put some pressure on it right now, but was possible that some of my ribs were broken or at least seriously bruised. Human ribs were more fragile than people thought and Connor had been about as gentle with me as I'd been with him when we'd been beating the crap out of each other.

"Take Connor to the ER," Morgan said, addressing a tall, dark-haired soldier who suddenly appeared behind him and helped Connor up off of the floor. Morgan held up a hand to me when I started to protest.

"Max, don't make it worse," he warned with that same calm I'd witnessed numerous times in surgery.

Connor cursed at the new game plan, his stream of expletives interspersed with my name a few times before he was half walked, half dragged from the chapel by the soldier whose face was impassive as he followed orders. When they were gone, Morgan turned his attention back toward me again.

"Max, Private Lewis is going to let you go so we can sit and talk. You and Connor need to get some space between the two you. Emotions are obviously running high right now which makes sense considering the current situation with Seargent Trammell, but you need to get it together. Can I trust you to settle long enough for me to check you out?”

I wanted to say no, but my body protested my stubborn thought process and I nodded even though that aggravated the headache that was beginning to form at my temples. Morgan nodded back at me. then gestured for the man behind me to release me. He complied immediately— another good soldier who followed orders just like Sam did. Me, I'd never been one to follow every rule laid out to the letter, especially when I was younger. But I kept my promise to Morgan now as I sat down and leaned against the back of the pew, glancing up at the guy as he asked Morgan if he was dismissed. Tall, with strong features and blonde hair that was buzzed to regulation standard, Private Lewis was hot. In another time and place I might've spared him a few more glances but I was furious and in pain so I couldn't muster up any of my usual flirtatious sass.

After Captain Lewis left and Morgan and I were alone, he sighed. "What in God's name were you thinking?"

"That I was going to hand Connor his ass for bein’ a selfish prick."

So not the right answer and Morgan confirmed it with a disapproving look before he sighed again. "And possibly get yourself court martialed in the process. We can probably work the angle of extreme duress if it comes to that because your record is spotless, but it was still foolish."

"No, what was stupid, not to mention unethical, was Dr. Tallon sharin’ Sam's medical status with Connor before reachin’ out to me. You promised to call me first, Morgan."

"And I was about to when Connor intercepted Dr. Tallon in the hallway before I caught up to them after stopping to talk to one of the nurses. He knows Connor and Sam are brothers for obvious reasons.”

"I'm sorry Max,” he said when I bristled. “Dr. Tallon made an error in judgement and the issue will be properly addressed, but he's human. It was a mistake."

The calm rationale pissed me off, but he wasn't wrong. We all made mistakes. It was the reason all doctors had malpractice insurance I got it, but I didn't have to fucking like it..

"Connor outed Sam. It's not right, Morgan. If anyone finds out, Sam's goin’ to flip. He didn't want that information shared."

"I know and it won't be. I already spoke to Dr. Tallon about it after Devlin was allowed into the ICU. That will also be addressed."

"Is Devlin still up there?"

"Yes."

"I want him out," I said flatly, not caring if I did sound like the asshole Connor had accused me of being. "It isn't serious enough between them for Devlin to pull the partner card. Sam told me that they respect and like each other enough to fuck, but not enough for Sam to come out for him. Devlin agreed, so I don't why the hell he's doin’ this now."

"I know you're angry and are just trying to protect Sam, but they're in the same unit Max. Devlin could just want to see with his own eyes that Sam's alright. It was Connor not him who told Dr. Tallon that he and Sam are partners."

"Which is exactly why I was tryin’ to hand Connor his ass before you pulled me off of him."

"Looked to me like you were getting as good as you got," Morgan said with a snort. You're favoring your ribs. Where else does it hurt?"

"I'm fine."

It was a peevish lie because I could feel my ankle throbbing and I doubted that I'd be putting much pressure on it when I stood up, but letting Morgan check me out meant more time that I was away from Sam.

"I just want to see Sam and get Devlin the hell out of there. I don't want Connor to be in there with him either. He'll just agitate Sam and right now, Sam needs to focus on restin’ and healing."

"I understand and as Sam's proxy you do have the right to bar them both from the room if you think their presence will affect his recovery, but are you sure that's what Sam would want?"

"Yes," I responded without any hesitation because I could be honest with Morgan in private, especially after he'd intervened to save my ass.

"Sam and Connor have always had a complicated, codependent relationship because Connor is the definition of hot-headed, toxic masculinity. Sam backs him out of a sense of guilt and misguided loyalty even though I ran out of fingers and toes years ago to count the number of times Connor’s put him through hell."

Morgan nodded and I slowly exhaled.

"How is he?" I said, finally asking the question that would've been my first if I hadn't been so distracted by my altercation with Connor.

"The surgery went well. Dr. Tallon expects Sam to make a full recovery though active duty isn't an option for a while and he should either go home, or stay with someone who can make sure that he rests and takes his prescribed meds."

"He'll stay with me."

My immediate, vehement response made Morgan's thick eyebrows raise and I silently cursed myself. Sam and I were best friends, but all of my reactions so far were beginning to look more intimate than just buddies, especially now that Morgan knew that Sam was gay. He'd already known about me.

"Who better to keep an eye on him than his best friend who also happens to be an amazin’ doctor?"

My sassy recovery didn't make Morgan's eyebrows lower and he swept me slowly in silent inquisition. I just barely managed not to squirm beneath his gaze.

"Max..." he started but then paused as if had noticed how I was starting to tense. In that moment I knew he suspected that Sam meant much more to me than I let on, but he didn't call me out on it. Instead, he patted my arm in a paternal manner.

"Let me see those ribs."

I obediently I lifted my scrub shirt, grateful for the pass I'd been given. I couldn't see all of the floridly colored damage from this angle but Morgan's sigh told me enough.

"You should get x-rays. You probably have at least one broken rib by the coloring. You're going to be all shades of pain when the bruising begins to heal."

"Later. We both know there's nothin’ we can do for that other than tape me up. I'm fine, Morgan."

He still didn't look convinced and I rolled my eyes. "Morgan, I was a skinny military brat and didn't put on my full height or any muscle for that matter, until I was almost eighteen. My smart mouth was plenty big though. Even before my dad was deployed to Florida and I met Sam and Connor, I'd had my ass handed to me so many times in Louisiana, that I lost count. It made me scrappy as shit, so I can assure you that Connor, big and bad as he likes to seem, kicks like a ten-year old girl in ballet flats."

Morgan snorted and his lips twitched as I held out my hand.

"I'll be okay if you help me stand up. Connor got me good in my right ankle. I don't think it's broken because I can flex it, but it's throbbin’ like a motherfucker. I’ll let you look at it later. Right now, I just want to be with Sam. I need to see with my own eyes that he's alive."

"Alright. I'll help you get up there and make sure Devlin leaves since you couldn't take on a teddy bear right now. Then I'll let security and the nursing staff know that Connor and Devlin are not to be allowed to be around Sam until you clear it. That work for you?"

I nodded. "Yeah, that works for me." I paused for a long moment. "Morgan...thanks for havin’ my back."

"Always. You're my best and brightest resident when you're not being stupid." His lips twitched in mild amusement. "Now, let's get you the hell out of here before we attract more attention. I'll get you settled in Sam's room and bring you some ice for that ankle."

I leaned on Morgan heavily after he helped me to my feet and we made our way slowly toward the elevator banks, then rode up to the ICU, ignoring all of the curious looks of the hospital staff we passed. I obviously hadn't been bloodied and bleeding on way out of ER earlier on my lunch break.

When I walked into the room, Devlin looked up from the seat he'd pulled up close to the hospital bed that Sam was asleep in.

"Hey Dev. Glad you're alive. Thanks for savin’ Sam's ass, but it's time for a guard change," I said. The greeting was lacking as many manners as the one I’d given to Connor, but it was all he’d be getting. I was fucking exhausted both physically and mentally. I had no fucks left to give about anyone who wasn’t Sam.

"Max... you look like shit. What the fuck happened?"

It was almost the exact thing I'd said to Connor earlier except with the concern I'd lacked.

Like Connor, Devlin's face was scrubbed clean and he was wearing a pair of dark blue sweats and a matching sweatshirt. I couldn't see any obvious injuries, but Devlin was as big and stoic as Sam was and his expression was carefully neutral in his smooth dark face. He might've been nursing an entire rack of broken ribs and even more colorful bruising scattered beneath his clothes and no one would ever know. He could've been a poster child for the elite nature of the Special Forces. It made me want to kick him in the balls just to get some kind of reaction, but my ankle was shot.

"Connor happened," I said as I allowed Morgan to help me into a chair on the other side of Sam's bedside. Sam's face was scrubbed clean, but there were small scratches on his arms and face and a bright white bandage was wrapped around his head.

"Mild concussion," Morgan clarified when I brushed my thumb lightly over Sam's temple just beneath where the bandage ended.

Sam never stirred during any of the verbal exchanges, probably sedated as hell by the morphine dripping into the IV in his left arm.

Unlike Devlin who'd just been sitting beside the bed like a handsome gargoyle sentry with both hands resting on his knees, I reached out to lightly brush the fingers of my left hand across Sam's temple before curling it around Sam's right hand because it was the one without the IV line in it. I didn't care about optics anymore. It was just the four of us in the room right now and by now Morgan had to realize I had feelings for Sam past friendship. Devlin probably knew too because Connor had a big mouth.

"Max, I'm going to get that ice for you and a wrap for your ankle. I'll also handle what we discussed earlier."

Discreet code for making sure that once I got Devlin to leave, neither he nor Connor were coming back in unless Sam specifically asked for them when he woke up and was strong enough to handle it.

I nodded at Morgan. When he'd left, I turned my attention back to Devlin, but never released Sam's hand.

"Why the fuck did you tell Dr. Tallon that you're Sam's partner? You know he's not out."

The words were hostile, but I kept my voice low because I didn't want to wake Sam. I was also wiped now that my adrenaline from earlier was dropping. I was going to need a lot of aspirin and a Coke on top of a few cups of coffee to keep watch tonight.

"Yeah, I know. Neither am I. This was Connor's idea not mine. He blurted it out before I could stop him. You know how Connor can be."

I snorted. "Yeah, he's an impulsive fuckhead."

Dev shrugged his broad shoulders slightly. "Connor meant well. You know that as much as they get into it, he cares about Sam in his own way and wants to do right by him even when he falls short." He paused, then exhaled slowly though it was smooth and measured, almost meditative. "Sam saved my life out there. He took a bullet meant for me and I owe him a life debt. I wanted to tell him that even if he can't hear me right now. But I'm not family so I wouldn't have been let into the ICU. Connor knew that and like you said, he's impulsive. But I swear to you that I never intended for Sam to be outed. I just wanted to see with my own eyes that he's alive."

I wanted to be angry, but that simple logic made sense to me. I didn't have to like it, but I respected the bond between soldiers who had one another's back because sometimes those people were the only ones standing between you and death. Sam had taken a bullet for Devlin, but I knew deep down that Devlin would've done the same for Sam if he'd had to.

"If he'd just waited and you'd both talked to me first, we could’ve made an exception due to the circumstances."

“I know Max. I am sorry.”

I nodded. "I'm sorry about your team, Devlin. I can't begin to imagine the pain, or how anyone deals with loss like that. It’s hard enough for us when we lose a patient who’s a stranger until they’re in our OR."

"Everyone's got different ways." Dev’s lips finally curved slightly though the smile didn't quite meet his dark eyes. "I don't do shrinks so it's probably going to be a lot of beer and poker for me." He paused for a moment as he glanced over at Sam again. "It's going to be harder for Sam. He always made bringing us all as important as the ops themselves. Tommy died in his arms," he added, pausing long enough for my heart to break for Sam.

"He's going to be fucked up. Probably for a really long time and you probably know as well as I do, that he'll try to lock himself down. Don't let him."

I sighed and leaned back into my chair because yes, I did know that. I'd been dragging Sam back from the edge of the rabbit hole off and on for years when he let things build up too long. Seeing each other sporadically now that I worked at the hospital and he was deployed for months at a time without being able to tell me where he was going, meant it was harder to keep track of what was going on in his head when I couldn't grill him face to face. He'd be out of action for a long time after this though, so I was going to be on him like white on rice.

"I'll take care of him."

Davlin nodded slightly. "Where's Connor now?"

"Probably still in the ER. He was dragged out after our fight and that's where Morgan sent him.”

"He look as bad as you?"

"Probably worse. I kept my hands up so he nailed me mostly in the ribs, but his lip was so busted he won't be eatin’, kissin’ or enjoyin’ Chapstick for a while. He also had the beginnings of twin black eyes and I might've broken his nose. To be fair, he definitely fucked up my ankle with that dirty-fightin’ kick of his."

Devlin's lips quirked up slightly at the corners just short of another smile. "Didn't think you had it in you."

I snorted. "Most people underestimate me because of my good ol' boy southern charm. Connor knows better. But like I said before, he's an impulsively stupid fuckhead."

"The fight wasn't all about Connor outing Sam though, was it?"

I wasn't expecting the question, especially not in that same deep calm tone, so it took me a minute to respond.

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean and if you don't want to talk about it, that's cool," Devlin said sagely. "I'm just asking to make sure you're okay because this is obviously a lot for you to take in too. We lost a lot of people today you didn't know, but you almost lost Sam and you look wrecked."

I was too tired to make even the most miniscule movement to arch my eyebrow. but Devlin read the silent question on my face. In response, he tilted his chin slightly in the direction of my hand where I'd unconsciously moved it back to rest over Sam's. I tensed even though my ribs protested with silent profanity. First Morgan, now Devlin. Fucking hell. I was off my damn game.

"He's my best friend."

"Yeah, I know that. Sam talks about you all the time, especially the shit you used to get into as kids. You're tight. I also know that he's in love with you."

"Devlin—" I started, but he cut me off with a slight shake of his head.

"Like I said, you don't have to tell me anything. I just thought you should know that you've been broadcasting since the moment you walked in here. It's all over your face, but I get that it's complicated when you have feelings for someone that you can't control and don't know how to deal with."

This time I did arch my eyebrow. "Talkin’ from experience? I didn't think you and Sam were that serious."

"We aren't. I'm not talking about him.”

“Who is it?”

Dev shook his head. “It doesn't matter because it can't go anywhere. Shouldn’t. And I'm alright with that. Just like I'm alright with ending things with Sam if you want me to because we always knew it wasn't going to be a yellow brick road ride down to a church with matching rings for us. We care about one another. We respect each other. But it's not the same thing as what the two of you have, complicated though it may be. You shouldn't let go of that."

It was almost the exact point that Connor had made, but Devlin's reasoning lacked all the derision and accusation Connor had rained down on me so I inhaled deeply, then slowly exhaled though I didn't answer his question. Instead, I said, "I told the doctors that Connor's not allowed back up here." I didn't add that I'd said the same thing about Devlin, but he read between the lines and nodded anyway. Smart man.

"I'll go check on Connor and make sure he respects that. Just please tell Sam that I was here when he wakes up."

All the anger I'd felt toward Connor was slowly burning out into embers instead of flaring up into another raging inferno because I believed Devlin when he said he'd handle it—stoic, grounded and ready to take on anything when shit went sideways, Devlin had Sam’s back. I could respect that.

"I'll tell him."

Devlin nodded, glancing at the bed once more before he left the room. As soon as he was gone, I looked down at Sam's sleeping face. It was pale with pain beneath his desert tan and I felt a betraying level of heat behind my eyelids, just like I had in the chapel earlier. This time I didn't stop the tears from escaping until Morgan knocked on the doorframe about a half hour later according to the clock on the wall. Even then, all I did was roughly wipe some of the dampness away with the back of the hand not still smeared with Connor's blood.

That movement prompted me to look down at my injured hand. I'd split the skin across my knuckles which meant that I probably wouldn't be working rounds until they healed. A doctor with bandaged hands made people nervous and it would be tough to hide layers of gauze under latex gloves. Of course, I'd only have to worry about that if I wasn't court martialed for starting a fight in a military hospital. Although Morgan had said he'd try to use emotional duress if things went that route, I still had to hope that my previously spotless record of service would be on my side if this became an issue.

"How is he?" Morgan asked, interrupting my thoughts before he handed me a wet washcloth for my bloodied hands.

"He hasn't woken up yet, but he looks better than I thought he would. Dr. Tallon needs a few lessons on ethics, but he did good work. Sam's vital signs have been holdin’ strong and steady for the last half hour," I said as I cleaned my hands with hospital towel that was just rough enough to make my damaged skin tingle.

"Sam's young and strong. He needs a lot of rest and PT for his shoulder. Dr. Tallon and I both think he should make a complete recovery though it's going to take time. How are you doing?"

Morgan swept me with a silent look and pulled a chair beside mine for himself when I didn’t answer. He sat down before he reached down for my leg and rested it on his own thigh so that he could push up the cuff of my scrub pants and examine my bruised ankle after removing my sneaker and sock. The flesh around my ankle was just as multicolored as Morgan had described my ribs and when he pressed down lightly on the bone and tendons, I immediately winced.

"I was doin’ better before you started doing that."

"Nothing feels broken, but there's a lot of bruising. You should probably get an x-ray at some point to check for a hairline fracture."

"Which would accomplish nothin’ because it would still heal on its own."

Morgan ignored me as he began to wrap an ace bandage around my ankle with experienced efficiency. "I'll get you a soft boot to get around if this doesn't help stabilize it."

"Since I refuse to hobble around the hospital, this will do just fine."

Morgan snorted, but he carefully taped the bandage down then carefully propped my foot on the chair after he stood up. He took my bloodied towel out of my hands and took it over to the hospital bin for soiled linens before he went into the bathroom to wash his hands. When he returned, still drying them with a paper towel, he said, "I'm still waiting for an answer."

"And I'm still tryin’ to think of one, so you'll be waiting for a while. Might as well go check on shit-head."

Morgan looked more amused than he probably wanted to when he was trying to be professional. "I checked on Connor before coming up here. He's fine. His nose is broken and he's developing two black eyes, but the entire matter will probably be overlooked as stupidity stemming from heightened emotions as long as you both keep your mouths shut and your hands to yourselves from here on out. The only witnesses were myself and the two soldiers I've already spoken to, so that should help keep this quiet."

I nodded slightly. "Thank you, Morgan. Devlin said that he'll keep Connor out and I trust that he'll keep his word. He didn't plan on being outed either. He just wanted to see that Sam was alive."

"Good. That makes my life easier. Anyway, I arranged for a cot to be brought up for you. I also brought you a fresh pair of scrubs and some aspirin," he said, handing me a little packet of Advil that wasn't hospital issued. Working in the ER meant we all got our share of headaches.

"And this is where I tell you to please stay out of trouble," he said though I heard the warning note in his tone.

Morgan liked me, but he wouldn't risk his career for me if I stepped out of line again and I understood. What had happened between Connor and I was stupid I'd started it, so I'd be making up for it for a long time.

"Noted."

Morgan nodded like he was satisfied with that response. "Good. I'll be back after my rounds to check in on you. Do you need anything from your apartment? I can swing by and pick it up after work."

I didn't have to see my own expression to know my gratitude was showing.

"There's a gray knapsack in the front hall closet that has a fresh change of clothin’ in it, some toiletries and aspirin. There's no rush though. You know my locker combination. My keys are in my inner jacket pocket. Thank you, Morgan. For everythin."

"You’re welcome. Just try and take a few deep breaths and focus on the fact that Sam's still alive and that he's right here with you."

When Morgan left the room, I was hit with a sudden need to be as close to Sam as physically possible. For the first time in my life, I wished that Sam was less tall, broad and stacked because if he'd been slimmer and not fucking 6'4 and 220, I might've been able to lay down in the narrow bed beside him. Instead, I slid my propped leg carefully off of the other chair so I could turn the one I was sitting in around to face the bed. I lowered the bed rail and twined my fingers through Sam's before I leaned forward until my forehead rested against the cool sheets. I must've fallen asleep like that, because the next sensation I was aware of was a light touch to my head, long, calloused fingers smoothing over my face.

I startled awake, but relaxed when I heard Sam's soft baritone soothe me by mumbling my name. I was reluctant to move from the touch, but I forced myself to look up because I needed to see his face.

"Hey..."

So fucking stupid. One word when I had a million that I wanted to share with him, but Sam offered a drowsy smile anyway.

"Hey... So...I guess this isn't heaven?"

"Why not? I don't look angelic to you?"

Sam smiled again. "Your horns hold up your fucking halo."

I grinned and squeezed his hand a little tighter, then brought it up to my lips for a kiss before I caught myself. On the surface it meant nothing because it wasn't like Sam and I didn't kiss every bit of each other's best parts on a regular basis—most of those parts much more interesting than his hand—but I suddenly felt like I'd just accidentally bared my soul to him with that simple display of bone-deep relief.

"You scared the shit out of me."

"Yeah, I kinda scared the shit out of myself for a while."

He paused and the small smile slipped as if his mind was finally clearing enough to let the current reality seep in. "My guys.. Did anyone else make it out?"

"A.J., Devlin and Connor did. I haven't seen A.J. yet, but Connor and Devlin are downstairs getting’ checked out." A small fib, but it was easier than getting into every detail right now.

Sam nodded, but his voice cracked and the machine monitoring his heartrate started to protest when he said, "I couldn't save Micky, Tommy or Tate. They're all dead. They had families. Kids. Someone needs to let them know. I should—."

"Hey,” I said, shifting to put a hand on his uninjured shoulder as his he moved like he planned to get up. He wouldn't get very far, but his agitation was making his vitals soar off the charts and I didn't want an entire team to wheel a crash cart in here.

"Easy, Sam. Please, just breathe, baby. Breathe. From what everyone's been tellin’ me, no one could've saved them all. It was an ambush that no one had intel on. You're fuckin’ amazin’ in so many ways, but you're not Superman. You couldn't have stopped it, but you still tried and you have all the holes to show for it. Devlin even said you took a bullet for him. He wanted me to tell you that he owes his life to you."

Sam tried to shrug, but the movement was limited because he was lying on his back. "He saved mine too. It's what we do."

Sam shifted uncomfortably again and I made stupid soothing noises as I stroked his hand until he settled back down. He closed his eyes for a few moments and when they opened again, he looked a little more lucid. His eyes narrowed slightly. "What happened to your face?"

"My face?"

Neither Morgan nor Devlin had told me that I was sporting any bruises, but when I raised my left hand to my face, my questing fingertips found a tender spot along my right cheekbone. Well fuck. Nothing like a little delayed boo boo surprise.

I shrugged. "Someone's fist didn't appreciate my face."

"Who was it? Piss off another wife? Husband?"

I snorted. "That happened one time and it was a from a wife with a solid right-hook who wasn't thrilled that her husband liked a few fingers up his ass while his dick was sucked."

"Only because she caught you actually doing it," Sam pointed out.

"Hey, I didn't know he was married! The fact that he enjoyed it so much is something they should definitely work out with lawyers. I probably saved them thousands in therapy bills PLUS the inevitable lawyer fees."

"Uh huh."

Sam snorted softly as he freed his hand from mine so he could gently trace the outer contour of the bruised area. "Will it hurt you if come here and kiss me?"

"Nope," I said with a slight smile. My ankle was the real impediment, but I stood as best as I could, using the side of the bed for support. I braced my other hand on the mattress so that I could lean down and brush my mouth gently over Sam's.

His lips parted slightly and though his breath was slightly stale and he smelled like disinfectant, I kissed him the way I'd wanted to the moment I'd been told he was hurt— deep but tender with the slightest tremble of relief. I pulled back first just so I could see his eyes as I came clean about at least one thing. "I got into a fight with Connor."

To his credit, Sam didn't look surprised. "Why?"

"Because of you." I hesitated then added, "He told the doctors that Devlin was your partner so that he could get him into the ICU."

I hadn't thought that Sam could get any paler, but he immediately lost about two more shades though he kept his gaze on mine.

"He what?... Max...."

I heard the panic in those three words, Sam's anxiety confirmed as the machines monitoring his blood pressure started to protest again when his numbers rose.

"Shh," I said aloud. Mentally, I said fuck it. With a little maneuvering, I managed to ease myself into a seated position on the bed beside Sam so that I could hold his hand and rub my thumb over the webbing between his thumb and forefinger.

"Relax, Sam. It's ok. I handled it."

"But--"

"I handled it," I repeated as I held his gaze. "Aside from handin’ Connor his ass, I talked to Morgan who’ll remind your surgeon about our code of ethics and what happens when they're violated. Okay?"

I raised our joined hands to my lips again so I could brush a kiss over the inside of his wrist over the pulse point. "And FYI, I apparently broke Connor's nose among other things before I sent Devlin to keep him the fuck out of this room until you're strong enough to kick his ass on your own. Sorry." SO not sorry. "You're safe and so is your secret.”

Sam nodded slightly, but I could feel the subtle tremble in his hands. This time I nipped his wrist right at that pressure point to get him to focus on me. "Sam, it's going to be all right, I promise you. Look at me."

When Sam obeyed without hesitation despite his unease, I leaned down to steal another kiss, this one a little firmer, more confident, to convey that he was always safe with me. After just a few seconds I could feel Sam slowly beginning to relax into the familiarity of my touch. I pulled back just enough to see his face, nudging his nose with mine as I murmured, "When have I ever broken a promise to you?"

Sam's lips quirked just short of a smile because the answer was never. I was a man of my word with most people, but always with him.

"Ok, Max..." He exhaled slowly, closing his eyes for a moment before he reopened them. "I feel fuzzy, like I can't focus and my body feels heavy, but isn't hurting. I was shot twice and almost blown up. Shouldn't I be hurting? Holes hurt."

I grinned because the meds were apparently starting to kick in again. Sam's stoic nature broke like this when he was drunk too and that small nod to normality despite our current situation helped me to exhale as well.

"You're goin’ to feel no pain for a while, baby. You're bein’ treated to IV drips of some of America's finest narcotics. You need to sleep in order to heal, so just enjoy the respite. Close your eyes for a little while and let yourself drift off with some sheep. When you get out of here you're goin’ to stay with me for a while until you're back on your feet. One of the benefits of living off base."

"I don't want to be in the way."

"In the way of what?"

Sam's lips quirked slightly into a dopey smile. "Your revolving door of tits and dick."

I snorted. "Nahhhhh you know I always go to their places. Easier for me to leave through their front door then kick them out though mine. AND I don't have to invest in to-go coffee cups to hurry them out the door."

Sam chuckled and I impulsively leaned down to kiss him hard. I could feel Sam's startled reaction, but then his lips parted like they had before and I felt his IV free hand slide up to rest on my back as I kissed him with both my hands cradling his face.

"You know I don't do the mushy shit," I murmured, "but you scared the fuck out of me today so just...humor me, okay? I want to be able to keep an eye on you for a while."

My okay sounded suspiciously like a please even to my own ears, and Sam nodded as he murmured, "Okay, Max."

His eyes half closed when I brushed another light kiss across his mouth. When I pressed my lips to Sam's right temple, I felt the warm huff of his breath skate across my throat as he murmured sleepily, "If I ever had to be outed, I'd want you to be the reason."

I immediately tensed, but before I could come up with an appropriate response, Sam added, "It’s alright Max. I know that won't ever happen, but I almost died today and when everything went to shit and I'd accepted that I probably wasn't going to make it home, all I wanted was to see your face one last time. I always want to see your face, even when you piss me the fuck off because you won't let me in. I wish you'd just let me in, Max."

Well shit. Maybe America's favorite past time should change from watching baseball to making more drugs that could be used as truth serums for bloodless warfare.

"Sam you know it's not you. I'm just... fucked up and it doesn't make sense. Mom and the Colonel have a decent marriage and I support marriage. I've gone to a few weddin’s and happily did the whole toastin’ to the happy couple thing. I just...I can't place myself up there on the wedding cake with someone in my mind. But... if I could..." I hesitated. "You're the only person other than my mama who I'd take a bullet for... You’re my best friend and the only person who sees me for who I am, not just the bullshit I so artfully spin. You are my fuckin’ person.".

"I know, but that's still not enough for you to let me in." His eyes hooded, smile small. His breath was already evening out as the IV drip of sedatives began to sweep him away again. "I love you anyway fuckhead."

I could've said it back right then, made it a tease the way he had, but suddenly that didn't feel like enough for me. I'd told Sam that I loved him hundreds of times before, but always with a joke attached to hide the truth of the words with smiles and bullshit. Right now, was my chance to say it for real and let the cards fall where they may. Apparently everyone around us already knew how I felt about Sam, so he deserved to know too. We could work out my intimacy issues together. He'd need fucking therapy for sure after losing his entire team, so couples therapy wouldn't be an added inconvenience.

Just lay all your cards out on the table Max.

I opened my mouth to finally man the fuck up, but apparently my internal, ten Mississippi long hesitation had been too long. The hard, calloused palm of Sam's hand closed over my mouth and he shook his head as his eyes met mine with a moment of steadfast lucidity. "No... not like this. I know you feel it. I know. But you're not ready to mean it and I don't want you saying it because you feel guilty, or because you feel sorry for me because some horrible shit went down tonight. When you're finally ready to tell me your worst kept secret, you do it when I'm not in a hospital bed, hooked up to an IV with a catheter up my dick. Tell me when I can commit everything to memory because right now, I doubt that I'll even remember this conversation later. Fucking Grade-A narcotics, remember?" His lips quirked though his eyes were intense as they held my gaze for another second.

According to my mama, my unofficial middle name was defiance and I'd had the switch marks on my ass to prove it growing up. But with Sam's hand clamped over my mouth I couldn't speak aloud and by the time my brain recovered enough to think to defy him by mouthing the words against his palm anyway, his hand dropped away, the afore mentioned medications dragging him down into sleep unceremoniously..

“I love you.”

I never knew if Sam heard me, or if he even remembered the conversation because the next morning, he didn't say anything about it and neither did I. I'd missed the moment and we were both fantastic at playing the ostrich game...

***

I shook myself hard to get the hell out of dodge and far away from that wasp's nest of memories, hiding it with physical movement as I snuffed out my cigarette in the ash tray on the bistro table, then chugged my water from the plastic bottle. I crushed it hard between my fingers to refocus before I walked back into the room. I closed the door behind me, then tossed the smushed bottle into the small garbage can by the desk.

"It's getting’ fuckin’ hot out there," I announced as I moved to the mirror to check my reflection for any sweat stains. Tara would kick my ass if I got grubby before the wedding party photos were taken. I slid a hand down my tie to straighten it for the umpteenth time that day. I didn't normally fidget, but then again, I didn't usually do pity parties or walks down memory lane either.

"I had my doubts about the three pieces, but yeah, I'm sexy."

"Ben and I are having a kid..."

Of all the things I'd ever expected to hear come out of Sams mouth, that wasn't even on my radar. I felt my grin slip as I turned to look at him. I'd been pretty lost in my head for a little bit there, but I'd obviously missed a pretty important segue to this conversation.

"Come again?"

Sam had both hands shoved deep into his suit pockets, no doubt creating a mass of creases and wrinkles that would be a bitch to straighten out before any wedding photos were taken. His lips tilted up slightly at the corners. "You're going to become Uncle Max. Well, in a year or so maybe a bit longer, after we settle on an insemination date. Ben and I finally decided on our surrogate."

Insemination? Surrogate? Sweet Fucking Christ on a goddamned cross...

"You're havin’ a kid?"

My brain was exploding and even though Sam had just elaborated a little on his original statement, I felt the need to reiterate just so I could make sure that I was hearing him correctly.

"Yeah... We're using a surrogate. Ben wants to be a father."

I nodded slightly, watching the subtleties in Sam's reactions. "And that's what you want too?"

Sam hesitated for a moment before he nodded slowly. "Yeah, I do. I just..."

I knew what Sam wanted to say because we'd been friends for over two decades and this wasn't the first time we'd ever discussed the possibility of kids and family in our futures. Well in his future. Other than Sam, I'd never cared about anyone enough to imagine scenarios of matching wedding bands and raising mini-Max's. Being the fun, honorary pseudo-uncle who smuggled in extra containers of rainbow sprinkles for Emma to eat without any ice cream in sight and who'd already promised to take Addie to get her first tattoo when she turned nineteen as long as it wasn't the name of a boy or a cartoon character on her ass, that was a role I could manage. Realistically, I wasn't emotionally responsible enough to have a pet, let alone be 24-hour daddy material. I'd always been ok with that. But Sam had grown up adored by a mom who'd believed he was worthy of love even though she'd been married to a man who didn't know the first thing about it.

Before his mom had died of cancer, Sam had once confessed to me that sometimes he fantasized about one day having a family and kids he could raise in a 180 manner from how his sadistic, son-of-a-bitch father had brought up him and Connor. But after losing his mom and then being betrayed by his Devlin and Connor's affair—his twin's opinion sadly being the only one other than mine who'd mattered to him before Ben had come into the picture—Sam had buried that dream so deep down I'd never thought it would resurface. But apparently Ben really did have a connection to the holy powers above because somehow, he'd broken through Sam's walls and completely redecorated the interior of his heart with baby furniture.

Yes Virginia, there’s both a Santa Claus and a God; a Christmas season miracle.

"Of course you're goin’ to be a great daddy, stupid," I said as I sat on the edge of the king-sized bed in the middle of the hotel room to try and get my head back into the game. "Those two genetically linked wastes of space that you had to call father and brother were drownin’ in the miserable consequences of their own fucked up decisions. They tried to unload that shit onto you because misery loves company. But look at how you are with Emma and Addie. You adore them. A point etched in stone by the fact that we're rockin’ six-year-old style, glitz and glamour at a Christmas themed weddin’ in Florida. Forget looking like their father, who I’ll reiterate, was an asshole. And I say father because any sperm donor is biologically a father. It takes a special man to be a daddy and you're their daddy Sam.” I smiled. “Addie's told me that she secretly appreciates that you run background checks on every boy she dates even though publicly, that always results in new world wars until she inevitably forgives you. You've also rocked that Elmo t-shirt Emma gave you for your birthday twice durin’ happy hour at the bar, where it's like eighty-five percent law enforcement and ten percent former military. Major baller move, man."

Sam's lips twitched and the unease in his eyes began to lift with affectionate amusement.

"Lovin’ them as much as you do and bein’ loved right back as proven by the fact Emma finally gave you your own dragon plushie and Addie actually introduces you to her friends, how can you possibly think you don't deserve a #1 Daddy mug?"

"I don't want to fuck up something that’s this important."

I snorted as I turned my left wrist to check the time on my watch to ensure we were still on schedule despite this emotional detour, then looked back at Sam.

"Sunshine, you will fuck up from time to time, and so will Mr. Angels on High. There isn't a parentin’ book out there that's based in reality. Kids remind me of this one type of houseplant that my mama loves and has about ten of."

It was Sam's turn to snort though he smiled immediately after. "Houseplants?"

"Hear me out."

He grinned. "Go ahead."

"Well, they all start out the same way when she replants the sprouts and are supposed to grow about ye big," I said as I spanned the correct height and width with my hands. "And you know that my mam's a proper southern lady who loves gardenin’ and flowers so she babies those plants somethin’ fierce to coax them to glory. But even when she gives them all the exact amount of water and they share the same sunny windowsill, they all end up lookin’ different. Some are tall and slim, genteel like 'good' southerners. Others like her favorites, are squat little things whose leaves grow straight out in every direction like that godawful haircut you sported for most of our sophomore year of high-school."

Sam's lips were twitching as his grin dissolved into laughter when he flipped me off.

"Those plant are supposed to look a certain way as dictated by their chromosomes, yet they end up occasionally doin’ their own thing. Kids are the same way except they don't have an exact blueprint. So, they will throw curveballs at you and you will, as afore stated, fuck up in how you handle them from time to time. That doesn't mean you won't be an amazin’ daddy who they'll idolize."

Sam finally chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling with relief more than a sign of age. "Houseplants... Jesus, Max."

"Hey, you ask her yourself when you see her at the reception. She'll back me up."

He smirked and then sat beside me on the bed. "The surrogate's name is Laurie," he offered. "She's great. Pretty, smart, funny, and she loves Spanish soap operas almost as much as Ben does, even though she doesn't speak Spanish."

"I speak Spanish, but you don't need to in order to enjoy them. Dramatic, 'Bitch, that's my baby daddy,' slaps, those translate in any language."

Sam grinned. "She's twenty-seven and a nurse who works at the same hospital as Sofia, in pediatrics. A parishioner of Ben's who works for an adoption agency recommended her since Ben didn't want to go through the traditional adoption channels."

"Nothin’ wrong with wantin’ to share genetics with your kid. Whose little swimmers are goin’ to produce my next niece or nephew?"

My tone was easy, teasing and supportive.

I felt like I was choking.

"Ben wanted us both to contribute and see what panned out because he didn't want us to know which of us is the baby's biological father. But even before we met Laurie, I told him that if things work out with the first one, then maybe... we could go that route. But for this first go round, I want him to be the donor."

Sam looked down at his hands a moment, rubbing along the bare skin of his left ring finger which would be wearing a wedding band in less than forty-five minutes— something I had to to keep reminding myself of.

"Well, I think if you're on the same page, then it's all good. He just wants you both to be daddy, even though no matter who the donor ends up being, you both get that title. But I can see your gears turnin’ so tell me what else is botherin’ you."

I paused when Sam didn't say anything, the dots of silence beginning to connect in my mind. I didn't like the picture they were forming. My immediate instinct was to reach for Sam's hand, but keeping my hands to myself around him was a new life goal so I placed them on my own knees instead.

"Sam, you're not your father and you're not Connor. You don't have a malicious or abusive bone in your body. We just talked about this. You're goin’ to be a good dad."

He inhaled deeply then exhaled just as slowly. It was his classic, internal Sam deliberation process, so I just waited him out.

"I know I'm not my father, Max," he said quietly.

"So, what's got you twisted up?"

"It's stupid."

"Most unnecessary self-doubt usually is stupid," I agreed. "Tell me anyway."

"It's not about my dad," he said. "It's Connor..." He sighed. "Connor and I share identical DNA. We're essentially the same person—"

Both my hands left my knees and swept through the air like I could physically cut Sam off before he took one more step towards a rabbit hole. We weren't doing the one step forward and two steps back thing today. We didn't have the time and my emotions couldn't handle being the platonic, supportive friend when I wanted to comfort Sam in other less appropriate ways like I had before he'd met Ben.

"Don't even go there Sam," I warned. "Shared genetics don't make anyone a monster. I'm pretty sure that Jeffrey Dahmer's mother didn’ go around invitin’ people over for Sunday dinner with the intention of them being on the menu. Genetics don't have any bearin’ over personal choice. Connor could've gone to therapy and found ways to combat his demons that didn' include hurtin’ everyone around him while he burned the world to the ground. You're not like him no matter how many damn alleles you share. You'd never hurt Sofia or the girls. You'd never hurt Ben or Tara, your yet to be born kid, or any of the people who love and trust you. And since none of the others are here, it's my job to tell you to knock this shit off right now."

I paused and silently counted to ten because the heat in my voice was making it carry more than it should've with the door closed and even nice hotels weren't known for their phenomenal soundproofing. I'd had many experiences with hotel guests on the other side of a shared wall announce their dissatisfaction with the sexual hijinks going on in my room on a good night. But getting the evil eye at the continental breakfast spread from the same guests' who'd been pounding on the afore mentioned wall all night was one thing. Having someone overhear what could be misconstrued as cold feet on Sam's side wouldn't go over well, especially not to anyone who knew he was talking to me and also knew about our former romantic history.

I wasn't stupid. Ben tolerated my presence partly because of Sam, but mostly because he really was the better man. However, that didn't mean he trusted me completely and I didn't want to add to that distrust. I may have hated that I'd lost Sam to Ben, but I didn't hate Ben himself and he didn't deserve this.

"Connor was an abusive, lyin’ prick who doesn't deserve any part in your thoughts today. You've come so far Sam, and today is about you and Ben. Fuck the damn ghosts and fuck Connor."

Connor had been a prick when he was alive and even dead, he could still occasionally hurt Sam. If he hadn't been just ash buried in the ground, I'd have long ago found some wack-job who claimed to be able to commune with ghosts to try and raise Connor from the dead just so I could stomp him back into the earth beneath my boots like the piece of shit he'd been.

"You and Connor didn't always hate each other, Max."

"We were about 80/20, and the 20 was the good part."

"We had some good times as kids," Sam continued, yanking me away from mental calculations about where I might find the afore mentioned wack-job. "And you know that he protected me against our dad when he came after me for defending mom, how he protected me against the assholes in the neighborhood who were more than been willing to pick up wherever dad left off."

"Yeah," I agreed because some of it was true. "I also know that a lot of the fights with the neighborhood kids and in the bars once we were all able to drink legally, were started by Connor."

The heat that was lacking from Sam's voice was starting to build in my own because if I wasn't about to ruin his wedding day with my mountain high piles of baggage, I certainly wasn't going to let a ghost do it.

"Maybe Connor doesn't deserve demon status, but he also doesn't deserve a completely rewritten history just because you feel like everythin’ needs to be forgiven because he's dead. Connor wasn't evil, but he was extremely damaged and I can have some level of empathy for that. I really can, but Connor cut himself out of my heart the moment he hurt you. My loyalty is to you . I will always choose you so I'll say it again, FUCK Connor."

Sam exhaled at the same time I did and his expression softened ever so slightly, as if he knew exactly how close I was to desecrating a cemetery after the wedding was over. I might not be able to raise the dead, but after a few strong drinks at the reception I'd definitely have a full enough bladder to piss enthusiastically all over Connor's headstone if I could drive there without crashing the car.

"I'm not sayin’ that Connor didn't love you Sam," I said, trying to work some calm into my voice. "I'm just sayin’ that his love wasn't enough for him not to destroy your trust."

I nudged his shoulder with mine. "You and I have both done some stupid shit, most of it together. But we'd never hurt each other the way Connor broke you with Devlin. You risked your life in Afghanistan to save them both, took a bullet for your trouble and they still cheated behind your back. You'd never do that to anyone, so if you fuckin’ compare yourself to that lyin’, cheatin’ son-of-a-bitch again, I'm going to track down my favorite blonde hell beast and let her take over. "

Silence lingered between us for a few minutes, but then Sam's lips quirked again, just short of a genuine smile though the expression in his eyes was calmer. Setting Tara loose on him to add her two cents to my monologue would make even the bravest man piss his pants.

"Sometimes I wonder if he ever regretted it," Sam said quietly as he stood up to get his cufflinks and work them into his sleeves.

I ignored the swift pang of guilt that tugged at my conscience because I damn well knew that Connor had regretted it on some level. I'd just never told Sam because in typical Connor fashion, it'd been a confession of regret laced with so many other things, including feelings I'd never shared with Sam. It would've just stirred the pot of Sam's complicated emotions toward his brother and likely made things worse than better, but for a brief moment I wondered if I’d done the right things by keeping that night from him…

***

(Flashback)

"You broke my damn nose!" Connor's proclamation was laced with heat, but I couldn't tell if he was angrier that his blood was slicking my fingers or by the complete lack of any empathy in my tone when I responded, "Yeah I did."

For the second time. And he was lucky that was all I'd done considering that I hadn't seen Connor in years, not since he and Devlin had betrayed Sam behind his back and lied to me by omission at the hospital. For that alone, Connor was lucky that I wasn't sending him to the damn morgue. I'd taken an oath to do no harm, but I'd also never taken any shit from anyone.

Connor's blue eyes, exactly like Sam's except for the ugliness that could well up in them at the drop of a hat, were unfocused from the alcohol that was pungently permeating from every one of his pores like he'd bathed in whiskey as well as drank it before he'd shown up at the door of my off-base apartment unannounced. They were also conflicted with probably the widest range of emotions I'd ever seen on Connors face, some of them ones I'd never thought him capable of. There was rage at me, but also what could've been relief, as if getting punched in the face was something that had been on tonight's bucket list.

"I just want to talk, Max."

"It's nice to want things. I'd love a fuckin’ pony, possibly with both a topless cowboy and cowgirl on top, but I don't have a damn thing to say to you. Get off my welcome mat."

"Just hear me out. Please."

After Sam had told me how Connor and Devlin had cheated on him behind his back, kicking Connor's ass had always been at the top of my to-do-list, but some cosmic snitch seemed to have whispered in his ear because Connor had made sure that our paths never crossed again. Not till now, even though I'd kept in contact with Sofia over the years and knew that Connor had returned home on leave a few times though those times had become less and less frequent. Sofia didn't know why, but I'd done the mental math and the long absences fit neatly into the timeline after Sam had found out about Connor and Devlin. He'd never told Sofia about the affair, but Connor had obviously taken initiative for once in his life and embraced being an absentee daddy.

Connor hadn't reached out to either Sam or me before tonight and I'd been fine with that. Seeing Connor would've just wrecked Sam even more than the initial betrayal by the man he'd shared a womb with. He and Devlin might've been sleeping together, but they'd never had that big, once-in-a-lifetime love, so his wasn't the betrayal that had shattered Sam's heart.

I exhaled slowly. Keep it cool, Max.

"Do you want me to break anythin’ else?"

"I think I fucked up Max."

"You think?"

"I know," Connor said, cutting me off before I could light into him again. "What Devlin and I did... " He hesitated and I felt my hands curling into fists at my sides when he said, "We should've told Sam before he learned about us the way he did."

I almost growled because, 'We should've told Sam before he learned about us the way that he did', wasn't anywhere in the same ballpark as just saying that what they'd done was FUCKING WRONG..

"I regret how Sam found out. I do."

"He walked in on you with Devlin's cock up your ass AFTER he'd been recoverin’ from bein’ SHOT savin’ you and Devlin. Regret is a one cent word right now."

"I know, Max! I KNOW that it was wrong, especially because of how much Sam sacrificed," he repeated a second time. "And if I could take that back I would. I swear to God that I would! But I can't regret Devlin and me. We work, Max. We work in a way he and Sam never could."

"And they both fuckin’ knew they didn't work! We established that after we desecrated the damn hospital chapel! Sam wouldn't have cared if you'd just stopped with your thinly-veiled, homophobic bullshit towards him and me and admitted that you're gay and care about Devlin. He'd have stepped back and I'd actually have respected you for steppin’ up instead of permanently puttin’ you firmly into the ‘piece of shit’ category.’"

"I'm not gay."

I snorted. "So, you just suck dick because swallowin’ a mouthful of spunk every so often is good for the skin? No wonder I fuckin’ glow."

"I'm not gay," Connor insisted though his tone didn't hold any heat. "Or even bisexual. Devlin... he just gets me."

"What he’ll get if I ever see him again, is a knee to the balls and possibly a broken nose so that you two can match." My tone was nowhere near as calm and quiet as Connor's because every memory we rehashed was just escalating my anger. "Bottom line, you both hurt Sam and no one hurts Sam on my watch. So, if you don't want me to figure out if my shower curtain is big enough to wrap your corpse in, leave. Now. Because that oath that I took to do no harm to others doesn't apply to lyin’, cheatin’ bastards. Go fuck yourself."

Connor didn't back up when I stepped right up into his personal space. Some of the intimidation factor probably fell short because he was so drunk I was amazed he was even standing. This close to him, I could smell both the pungent whiskey as well as a fainter acrid smell, as if he'd already been sick at least once before he'd shown up here and had just made a half-assed attempt to wash off the stench of stupidity and vomit with more whiskey. That wasn't surprising. Connor had always had more balls than brains, especially when he was wasted.

I wasn't in the mood for any of his shit tonight, but I stopped myself from hurling him out the door when I saw the rage in his eyes suddenly go out, like someone had finally blown strong enough to extinguish what I'd always thought would be an eternal flame like the one lit for JFK in Arlington Cemetery. I'd never seen Connor back down from a fight in his life, but I knew that in this moment he would've let me wreck him without raising a finger in self-defense. There was a slump to his broad shoulders that I'd never seen before, as if the chip I'd always believed he'd been born with, had fallen off and smashed down into vulnerable little pieces I'd have crushed beneath my heel if I was smart. But although my wrathful energy wanted me to feel only anger and indifference towards Connor's silent admission of defeat and follow through on my earlier plan to throw him off my porch into the damn rain that’d already plastered his jeans and t-shirt to his skin, I hesitated.

Connor, Sam and I had spent our teenage years together like a slightly dysfunctional version of the three amigos in our small suburban neighborhood. Spending that much time with anyone created a bond even when it was a complicated one. They'd both been like brothers to me in the beginning. Sam had been the brother whom I still had a secret, slightly incestuous love for, and Connor had been the brother who I cared about when I didn’t want to take him out back and beat him like a dirty rug because of all the stupid shit that he did. But love and hate are emotions that run parallel a lot of times, and apparently some of those old, ill-placed emotions still lingered beneath the surface to stir up inconvenient internal conflict in my head. It also didn't help that he looked so much like Sam had on that day years ago when he'd shown up at my parent's place drenched by the rain, to tell me that Sofia was pregnant.

I felt my teeth grit hard enough to threaten thousands of dollars of dental work before I stepped back silently so Connor could walk in through the door, dripping water on my welcome mat like a half-drowned kitten. We stood there for a moment just staring at one another.

"I'm goin’ to set your nose, and then you have exactly the few minutes while I do that and splint you up, to say whatever it is I plan to forget the moment you leave. Understood?"

Connor nodded and silently followed me into the small kitchen where he sat in the straight-backed wooden chair I unceremoniously pulled out for him before I moved down the hall into my bathroom to get aspirin, gauze and hydrogen peroxide from the medicine cabinet. I also grabbed a small splint and medical tape from my bag in the hall closet. I always kept extra supplies at home to enhance the sparse supplies in the ineffectually basic first aid kits sold in most pharmacies. Connor wasn't going to get VIP service tonight, but even I couldn't work miracles with only mini gauzes and a few band-aids.

When I got back to the kitchen, Connor was still sitting exactly where I'd left him, staring at the wall with a blank stare like he'd gone catatonic. I hoped not because it would make bopping him on the head and wrapping him in the shower curtain that I'd done an eyeball measuring of when I'd gone into the bathroom to get the supplies, all that more tempting. He finally glanced up at me when I walked to the fridge to get an ice pack out of the freezer. I put it on the placemat in front of Connor on the table, then pulled over another chair to sit across from him. Connor took the wad of paper towels I held out to him without a word.

He knew the drill. Growing up with a father who liked using his kids as punching bags because he was a miserable failure of a human being, Connor and Sam both had more than a few broken noses under their belts. Connor blew out hard into the tissue to clear all of the blood and mucous from his nostrils before he wadded the bloody paper towel up into a tight ball in his fist while I snapped on latex gloves.

My gaze swept his features for a moment. I'd known Connor as long as I'd know Sam, so I could always easily tell them apart despite their identical genetics. But sitting in that chair in my kitchen, as broken as Sam had been a few months ago, Connor looked so much like my best friend that it was weirdly disorienting. He had the same navy-blue eyes, strong handsome features, and close-cropped light brown hair lightened to dirty blonde by the desert sun. The broken nose would change his profile a bit, but he'd still look like Sam after I set it. A broken, completely fucked up version of the man I loved yet even now, kept at a hands-length.

Sam still loved me, no matter who else he might be fucking for stress relief, but even after all these years, I still wasn't sure that I could be what he needed and deserved— a man who was steady and open, and who didn't avoid strong emotions like the clap. I didn't know how to be that kind of man. Hell, my father had told me that often enough and I’d never been able to prove him wrong. Sam was my person and if I couldn’t make it work with him, there wasn’t much hope for me in the bone-deep love department. But I did know how to make people feel better, so that was what I was going to focus on right now, even if the person I was helping was Connor.

I leaned forward and made a triangle with both of my hands, placing all four finger pads against one another with my palms sloping away from one another before I settled my hands snugly against the apex of the triangle above Connor's nose. I didn't bother telling him to take a deep breath because he already had, and was exhaling by the time I brought my hands together and snapped his nose back into place toward his chin in as straight a line as I could manage considering how the previous years of abusive manhandling—including my own contribution in the hospital chapel that night—had already damaged his handsome profile.

Despite my intention to be a hard-hearted badass, I was careful as I felt around Connor's face to make sure the alignment was right because muscle memory kicked in and so did the gentleness I tried to provide to all my patients even Connor didn't deserve the compassion. When I moved my hands away to exchange my bloody gloves for another pair, I gestured at him. "Start talkin’."

Connor didn't hesitate. "I love my brother Max. I know you don't believe that. Sam probably doesn't either and I get it. I fucked up and I don't deserve his forgiveness."

Hallelujah. Old dogs could learn new tricks. It was just too late in the game for it to matter to me.

"So, you came to me for absolution instead? Let me repeat my earlier statement of, go fuck yourself."

Connor winced slightly as I displayed less gentleness when I shoved clean gauze up both his nostrils to staunch some of the bleeding.

"No, I just needed to tell you because in our own fucked up way, we're brothers too and at least one of you should know that this is the last time I'm ever coming back stateside."

He sounded congested, but in Connor's tone I still heard what I didn't want to.

Remorse.

"I went to the house, saw Sofia and Adelyn and…"

Connor trailed off and another flash of what I recognized as genuine regret, slid through his eyes though it was gone too quickly for me to acknowledge before he continued. "That isn't my home anymore. Something was broken inside me even before I joined the military, and the few stable parts that were left got blown apart in Afghanistan. I can't keep doing this."

"So, this is your rendition of 'the fuck-up exits stage left’?" I snorted. "Connor, at this point I don't care if you get sucked into a black hole. Just do it without all the melodrama because it's not necessary. You're not some tragic hero or even an epic villain. You're just a confused man at war with himself. A lot of people unfortunately fall into that category, includin’ some people I call friends, so I'd give you a small pass for that if you'd just ADMIT it. But forgiveness? Open arms? Never. Goin’. To. Happen."

"I know."

I arched an eyebrow as I applied the splint to Connor's nose and taped it into place. "Then why are you here?"

"Because you hate me, but you love Sam and right now, he's as broken as I am and needs your help."

My jaw ticked. "Yeah, because you broke him."

"You know that's not true, Max. I was just the final blow that shattered apart all the hairline fractures already there," he said, wincing again when I pushed down hard on his bruised face before continuing. "Our dad fucked us up, but I can admit it. Sam keeps fighting the truth, thinking we can come back from it. He's trying to live two lives. The one where we've had to do some horrible shit to survive, and another that pretends to be white picket fences when he's stateside. The duality is starting to break him. Sam's pent up so much emotional shit he doesn't know how to work through, that it's exhausting to try and protect him from himself, and love him at the same time. You know that or you'd have told him years ago that you’re in love with him. You had the perfect opportunity at the hospital when you threw me out to confess how you felt and you didn't take it. You almost lost him, man, yet you still kept your damn mouth shut."

Connor didn't give me a chance to come up with a response to that dump of verbal vomit as he held up one hand to stave me off. "How about this? I'll admit I'm gay when you admit that the only reason that you and Sam aren't together right now is because you can't love and manage him at the same time. You're not the guy who can do that. Maybe that kind of guy doesn't even exist, but if he does, you and Sam going back and forth like this, is the ultimate cock-block for whomever that could be."

The temptation to deck Connor again flooded me, but it would've undone all my hard work and as much as I hated to admit it to myself, he might not be completely off base. I'd had the same thought on and off for years, but just like the damn cowboys on the mountain, Sam and I couldn't seem to quit each. It was stupid and sad and I probably deserved a punch in the face almost as much as Connor did, but that was something I'd work out with myself later in private.

I stepped back to grab the small aspirin bottle out of the bag and tossed it at him, slightly disappointed that Connor still had enough coordination to catch it one-handed since I'd admittedly been aiming at his head.

"Time's up."

"If you want to prove me wrong, go to him as soon as he's back from his tour and tell him that you've been in love with him since we were kids. If you don't, remember this moment and walk away because it's the only way you're ever going to be able to move on with your own life."

Connor stood up and put the little aspirin bottle down on the table and picked up the ice pack. "Bye, Max."

I let him leave, then threw the bottle of aspirin he'd left behind against the wall so hard that the cap popped off, and the pinging of the pills on the linoleum was the only response I had....

***

"You're right. Ben and I work and we’re happy. This is just the next step. I can’t let Connor ruin that. I’ve come too far. Thanks, man.”

I blinked as Sam's voice mercifully cut the cord on that most recent memory. I forced a smile I knew could charm the knickers off a nun.

"Of course, Sammy. Consider me your sexy southern version of the Jiminy Cricket conscience.."

Sam smiled genuinely this time. It lightened his eyes before he turned away to get his cuff links from the polished top of the wooden nightstand that was as high end as the rest of the furnishings in the elegant hotel room—nothing like cheap particle board of the dressers and nightstands in the small motels we'd stayed in most of the time when we'd gotten together. The rooms had always been clean, but we hadn't cared much about the furnishings as long as there was a solid framed bed with a comfortable mattress and decent take-out places nearby.

That was another vast difference between Ben and I and it irked me, though if I'd ever taken Sam anywhere really nice, he'd have seen right through my façade of not giving a shit about romance because I'd probably have ordered champagne and possibly put fucking rose petals on the bed. Red ones, to contrast with his tan.

For fucks sake.

I silently chastised myself before I stole a glance at Sam who thankfully seemed oblivious to my lecherous imagination as he struggled to work the silver links through his sleeves. I didn't offer to help him because I knew that the irritating task took concentration and would give him a few minutes to get his thoughts together. It also gave me time to try and do the same thing though I kept up appearances by grabbing another bottle of water from the fridge. I unscrewed the cap and sipped it slowly as I leaned against the wall, looking out through the crystal-clear panes of the sliding glass door, at the white capped waters of the ocean that glittered like diamonds in the sun. It was going to be a beautiful day. I'd have preferred enjoying it outside from the safety of the balcony with the door between Sam and I, but I didn't know how to justify a second trip outside. Instead, I just focused on the scenery and the cool of the water working its way down my throat as I let my mind drift ...

***

(Flashback)

It was the moaning that got my attention. Normally when there was a sexy man in my bed, that sound heralded a good time being had by all, but since I wasn't in that bed at the moment or touching the guy, it wasn't a good thing. Especially not when the guy was Sam, and I knew what that litany of troubled harmony could build up to.

I tossed away the towel I'd been trying to tie around my hips when I’d walked out of the still steamed up bathroom where I'd been showering off the evidence of the stupendous sexual hijinks Sam and I'd engaged in before I'd fucked him so stupid that he'd fallen asleep shortly after. I'd been feeling smooth like Jagger until I heard those low cries. Then there was only room for a quick, "shit!" muttered under my breath as I made a beeline for the bed, unconcerned about where the towel ended up.

As soon as I reached the side of the bed, I turned on the small lamp on the nightstand. Sam had managed to toss off half the sheets, but he was still thrashing around, trying to get his bearings in a dream world that was obviously tormenting him. When a long, lost sounding cry escaped from his throat, my heart clenched. When he was awake, Sam kept all that emotion locked down like his heart was Fort Knox—sealed at every corner with invisible Teflon. But asleep, he was just like every other human being on the planet who trusted their mind to be still at night and allow both brain and body some time to recharge so they could continue to go through their waking life trying to be normal, well-adjusted people.

We all wanted that. Sometimes so much that we forced ourselves to go through the motions and faked it till we made it to some approximation of our goals. But Sam's mind was a more vulnerable playground than most, and his brain regularly betrayed him like a Judas son-of-a-bitch.

The mattress of the hotel bed had been a little too firm for my taste when Sam and I’d been rolling around on it and enjoying some ridiculously imaginative acts of debauchery, but it was perfect for serving as a stable surface that dipped only marginally beneath my weight when I pressed one knee onto it, keeping my other leg planted as solidly as I could on the carpeted floor. I leaned over Sam and tried to catch his flailing right wrist. It was his dominant hand and I'd learned from painful personal experience over the years, that controlling it first was always the smartest play when I had to manhandle him in situations like this. Although he'd never willingly hurt me, Sam had been trained as an Army Ranger, one of the top in his class before he’d ever joined Delta. He was disciplined, efficient and dangerous as hell, especially when he had zero control over his emotions and acted on gut reaction impulse toward whatever horror show was being hosted in his head.

His nightmares were occurring more frequently lately. This was the second one in the last five days we'd been together, so I took the precautions I could whenever I needed to save Sam from himself. I was scrappy enough to take a few punches, but I knew what the heart-wrenching fall out could be for Sam if he accidentally hurt me.

As soon as my fingers closed around his wrist, Sam stiffened. I quickly captured his left hand as well before he could react and steadied my weight on the bed when I straddled him and gently shook him. Although I normally subscribed to the same general consensus of most trained, medical practitioners—that people who were dreaming, even if violently, should never be woken up abruptly because it could startle them into further agitation—after living through years of Sam's night terrors with him, I knew how to handle the consequences of the hard awakening he needed.

"Sammy, you're just dreaming. Come on, darlin'. Open your eyes. It's Max."

The muscles in my arms corded tight as I tried to keep him pinned firmly, but as gently as I could. I kept my tone calm though I could hear the urgency coming through.

"Come on, wake up Sam. It's okay. I'm right here."

"Tommy! No, don't! Stay with me. Don't soldier. You—"

Sam frantically mumbled words cut that were abruptly cut off when I pressed more firmly on the pressure points on his wrists, trying to maintain my balance so he couldn't buck me off.

Unlike Sam, I hadn't gone straight into the military. I'd had to complete my bachelor's degree at an accelerated three-year pace first and then gone through the medical program at USU, a federal medical school that trained doctors for the Army, Navy, Air Force and Public Health Service. It'd made my transition into military life easier. The coursework hadn't been easy but aside from having the rank of Captain when I was officially a military doctor—a title that meant a lot more to my mama than me because she liked stressing it at weekly brunches with her lady friends for bragging rights— I could also add combat medical skills to my resume because the specialized courses had been a requirement.it. Even if they hadn't been, I'd have found a way to get the training because knowing that I could be deployed to unsafe combat zones, and seeing the effects multiple deployments had made on Sam, meant I wanted to be prepared. I'd made sure that I'd had as much required and private personal training as I could to keep my ass bullet-free. Sam had worked with me at the range whenever we managed to be on leave at the same time during my first few years. My brain, when not influenced by my dick, could focus on other things like the importance of physical exercise for people working in potentially precarious positions. I trained hard and ran ten miles every morning that I could. So even though Sam had two inches of height on me and probably thirty pounds of muscle, I could handle myself. I just never wanted to have to hurt him.

"Tommy's okay, baby," I said deliberately, knowing Sam hated it when I called him that. I hoped it would break through the nightmare and sink in deep enough to wake him up because he knew it was me. "He's right here next to me. Come on Sammy. Open your eyes baby. Just breathe and look at me. Tommy's right here."

That lie was the one I most regretted whenever I was forced to use it because of the painfully epic aftermath each time Sam opened his eyes after dreaming of losing almost his entire first unit in combat. The relief of knowing he was awake and hadn't fallen down an endless rabbit hole always lifted some of the haunted shadows in his blue eyes. But as soon as his belief that Tommy, one of the men who'd died in that ambush under his command was still gone, reality shattered him all over again.

Sam struggled against my hold for another few seconds, but I knew the moment my words registered because his eyes flew open and he exhaled hard. His pupils were completely blown out with lingering panic, so the black almost obscured the deep blue. His chest was rising and falling rapidly as he tried to steady his breath. As a doctor I'd have been concerned if I hadn't known from personal experience—most of it carnal— that Sam was in peak physical condition.

"That's it. Easy," I said, trying to soothe him as I slowly released my grip on his wrists so I could free up my right hand to run it gently down the side of his face. I waited until his eyes focused on me before I let my hand move down to rest against the side of his neck. I held two fingers there until I felt his erratic pulse start to slow down.

"There you go. It's okay Sam. I'm right here, sweetheart. Shh, it's okay."

"Max...?"

"Yep, just your favorite doctor with the most sexually healin’ hands you've ever experienced. Welcome back, Sammy."

Even though my tone was calm and easy, I could feel the tension rolling along my spine when I leaned down to brush my mouth gently across Sam's. His lips felt rough and chapped against my own, but I didn't care because when he slowly kissed me back, I knew he was settling back down to reality.

I released my grip on his wrists and started to pull away, but Sam's right hand suddenly shot up to grip the back of my neck. The pressure was firm, but gentle despite the audible desperation in his voice.

"Don't, Max... Just..."

Sam couldn't finish the sentence, but we'd been down this road so many times before that I knew exactly what he wanted.

What he needed.

I kissed Sam again gently, but not chastely. It was a comprehensive exploration and claiming of every recess of his mouth. Every graze of my lips and the light, practiced strokes of my tongue reminded him of where he was and who he was with. Although the remaining agitation on his tongue tasted stale, I didn't pull away until we both needed to take a breath. Even then Sam didn't let me move too far and I rested my forehead gently against his in silence until his noisy breath settled into softer, warm puffs of air against my mouth. I tapped his cheek softly and Sam immediately let go so I could roll up to a seated position again. As soon as he did the same and moved out of the way so I could get behind him, I leaned back, upright against the headboard. I spread my legs apart so Sam could shift his weight and slot his body between them to align his spine against my abs with the back of his head cushioned on my shoulder as he curved his body back into mine. I slid one arm across the upper part of his chest firmly and curved the other arm up over his head till my hand rested on top of his head so I had him in a warm hybrid of a hug and a choke hold. Once I had him set up, I let my chin rest on top of my own arm. Most people would've found the position confining and uncomfortable, but Sam's body instantly relaxed in my hold as the tension seeped out of it. He exhaled heavily and brought both hands up to grip the arm I had across his chest. He exhaled again and I did the same.

"That's it, Sam. Try and match your breath to mine. In and out. Smell the flowers and blow out the candles," I said, repeating something I'd heard another doctor say once to a young patient. I'd thought it was stupid at the time, but it always seemed to soothe Sam. "Easy."

I inhaled slowly but deeply, holding it until I felt him mimic me. When I exhaled again, he did the same. We breathed that way for a few moments, falling into a rhythmic pattern until Sam's grip on my arm lightened though he didn't completely let go. Instead, his long fingers moved restlessly over my skin like he was petting me.

"Shh. I've got you. I'm right here, Sam. Don't have anywhere else to be. Though..." I made sure he could hear the smile in my voice when I drawled out my words. "I know you went to town and ate your fill of my ass earlier, but my stomach might need some attention soon. I'm sure there are take-out menus somewhere around here."

Sam's breath ghosted across my arm when he chuckled and I felt my own anxiety diminish a little. These kinds of nights were always tough on both of us— him, because he had to deal with nightmarish memories and me because I had to watch him go through that pain….

 

(Present)

I exhaled slowly though the weather was warm enough outside that my breath didn't fog the glass at all. I knew better than to go down this road because the definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over again expecting different results. I knew that, but it needed to be tattooed across my ass, or maybe my forehead...

 

(Flashback)

Sam turned his head slightly and my vision blurred briefly when I tried to crane my head at a better angle to see his face. I released him when his hands fell away from my arm as he leaned up to brush his mouth across mine. The first pass was tentative and slow, like it was a first kiss even though we'd done a lot more than this a million times before. Sex was usually the way I walked him out of the minefield of troubling memories after bad nightmares, but when Sam bumped his nose gently against mine, I felt the subtle, tangible shift between us. Sam exhaled against my mouth, and I breathed in as my lips parted to let him take over.

He didn't hesitate.

The first stroke of his tongue against mine sent an immediate jolt of lust laced with that hint of something else that I wasn't going to define right now because I couldn't go there and still remain in this bed.

Sam needed me to stay.

I moaned when he slid one arm up around my neck as the other reached down between us to stroke me the way he knew would light me up. It was never difficult for Sam to get me stiff and ready for him, but when he murmured my name against my throat and licked over my pulse, I was hard enough to etch glass, and engrave any future invitations he wanted. I closed my eyes so I could concentrate on the sensation of the calluses on Sam's hands catching gently on the thin, sensitive skin of my cock as he stroked me off.

A moan escaped my throat when Sam moved his hand so he could push the firm curve of his ass back tightly against me, lining our bodies up in such a way that I knew exactly what he wanted.

Usually, it was a playful fight for dominance between us to figure out who was going to take the lead in bed, but Sam seemed to have already played a game of rock paper scissors with himself, and deliberately lost judging by the way he ground his ass back against my crotch. He knew just how to shift his hips back to wedge my dick between the firm cheeks of his ass so the pre-cum already dripping through my slit allowed for a smooth enough glide to tease without actual penetration. Just in case I didn't get the hint though...

"I want you inside me. Just like this."

My breath caught as Sam pushed back a little more so that my tip barely breached that little crimped hole. I knew what he meant, but we've been doing this dance on and off for over a decade and never gone bare.

"Mmm, you know I'm always up for reinventing the Kama Sutra, sweetheart, but I don't know if even I'm bendy enough for this angle."

Sam snorted and turned enough so that he could lean up and catch my lower lip between his teeth to nip hard. That level of moderately rough play was more our usual speed, but when he soothed the spot with a gentle stroke of his tongue, I closed my eyes again. This time I wanted to focus on the sensation for reasons that weren't avoidance, even if I knew better.

"You know what I mean, Max. I haven't been with anyone since Devlin, and even with him I always played safe."

I always play safe, Sam', but you also know I play in a lot of different sandboxes..."

Which was true, but I was also a doctor and knew the importance of gloving up and I got tested regularly. Sam knew that too. He also knew that it'd been over eight months since he'd been the only one keeping my bed warm— the longest we'd ever been our version of monogamous. I used my work schedule as an excuse, but we both knew I was always busy and squeezing in random hookups had never been an issue before we’d just silently stopped seeing other people. Sam had never pressured me to put an official title on our unspoken status change before. But tonight...

"I don't care."

The tender glide of his hand down my cheek made me open my eyes. Under the soft glow of the bedside lamp, I could see that Sam's pupils had dilated again. The press of him hard against my midsection when he rolled up and turned in my arms so he could straddle my hips told me it wasn't from panic or fear this time.

"We'd kill and die for one another," he said. It was matter-of-fact and also so damn true that all I could do was nod. A moan followed it in another wordless response when Sam trapped the skin beneath my jaw between his teeth and sucked up hard. Normally we didn't mark each other up but Sam was taking no prisoners tonight.

"So, if we trust one another to always have each other's back like that, why wouldn't we trust one another with everything else?"

Because Connor's words echoed in the back of my mind every time something had happened that had required triage and kept me from confessing— one of Sam's nightmares, the end of one of our deployments, tough family dynamics because the Colonel viewed Sam as his son and me as consistent disappointment, etc, etc.

"Really pretty way to say you trust me with your backside when your back is up, sweetheart," I said, aiming for deflection. Sam didn't take the bait. Instead, he kissed me so firmly and completely that I almost gave in and forgot about everything else except him like he wanted me to. It didn't matter if I kissed Sam slow and easy while we had some extended private time, or rough and heavy so we could get our rocks off quickly. Sam always tasted like familiarity.

Friendship.

Home.

"I love you."

It wasn't me that said it. Sam was braver than I was. Always had been.

The one time I'd been able to say the words had been that night at the hospital and Sam hadn't heard me. But I could do it now and prove to Connor, the Colonel and myself that I was enough, and that Sam and I could be enough together. I was the right guy because who the fuck else would ever understand and be willing to sacrifice so much for Sam, even if he didn't always see it?

I dragged my knuckles gently across Sam's jaw when he pulled back just far enough to look me in the eyes.

Tell him, Max.

"I know..."

My voice was softer than I'd intended it to be. Apparently, the southern sass that usually served me well had run out on me like a deadbeat daddy avoiding child support payments.

Sam searched my gaze for a minute, but when I didn't add anything on to extend those two words, or move my hands away from their current, neutral position on his hips, I saw his change..

I'm so sorry, baby.

I knew Sam hated it when I called him baby because he assumed that I said it to everyone I hooked up with, but the only time I'd ever said it to other people when I was flirting was when Sam could hear me so he wouldn't realize it only actually meant something when I said it to him.

Sam nodded once, then slid off my lap to make his way to the hotel's mini fridge that we'd had stockpiled earlier with beer and snacks. They hadn't gotten any action until now.

Sam obviously needed to put some physical space between us without actually leaving the room. I kept my gaze on him because I didn't have to look down at my lap to know that Little Max had left the building. Nothing killed a mood more than knowing that you'd just broken your best friend's heart.

I wanted to apologize, but all I did was take the beer Sam handed to me ...

***

I shook my head like that would expel the memories that kept creeping in, but almost immediately I got swept over by a second wave like a goddamn tsunami. Years of repression had apparently decided to catch up with me today, and looking out at the ocean was starting to amplify the feeling of drowning. I turned away from the view towards Sam.

"Hey, I'll be right back. Have to take a piss."

"Thanks for the PSA," Sam said, grinning before he resumed the fight he'd picked with his cufflinks.

I walked into the bathroom and locked the door behind me before I leaned my head back against it and closed my eyes....

***

(Flashback)

I'd picked Sam up from the bar that we usually frequented together when he was back from deployments because the service was good and the drinks were cheap. The owner was a former Vietnam vet so it was a safe space for everyone whether they were enlisted or retired. We both knew all of the staff who worked there, including Ethan, the bartender and retired Marine who'd had my cell number because we occasionally hooked up when he wasn't working. He'd been the one who'd called me while I was at the hospital to tell me that Sam was alone at the bar, and so blitzed he could barely stand.

When I'd arrived, Ethan had apologized that Sam hadn't been cut off earlier. A new kid had been working that side of the bar and Ethan hadn't noticed how bad the situation was until Sam had almost taken a header off of his stool. I'd assured Ethan that it was ok because it wasn't his job to babysit Sam who'd been a mess ever since his world had fallen to pieces recently; first by finding out that Connor and Devlin had been killed in action together, then by getting handed his papers for early retirement with an honorary discharge.

It was a steaming pile of shit that would've been a lot for anyone to handle. For a man who was a decorated hero, hiding the PTSD that’d been chipping away for years at the strong demeanor he presented publicly ninety-nine percent of the time, it was devastating.

I'd tipped Ethan heavily for his help, then drove Sam back to his off-base housing. We made it without him puking in my car, though that was probably partly because he'd fallen asleep halfway there. By the time I'd woken him up, unclipped his seatbelt, then gotten him on his feet with my arm securely wrapped around his waist to prop him up, Sam was coherent enough to mumble my name before telling me to fuck off a few times. I ignored him and half walked, half dragged him into his apartment after getting the door open with my copy of his key. I would've brought him to my place which was bigger and more comfortable, but Sam's was closer and I spent enough time with him that I always kept a spare set of clothing including work scrubs and a toothbrush there.

Most of the time when I was at Sam's place and his mood began to spiral, Sam used the word, fuck, in more colorfully suggestive ways than he was right now. Ways that usually ended up with one of us pinned like a giant bug flat against the nearest sturdy and horizontal surface. Being able to pummel out all the pain in him with my cock deep inside him, or his dick in me let him stop thinking for a while.

Neither scenario was happening tonight.

Instead, I wrangled Sam to his bedroom where I helped him to strip down to his t-shirt and black boxer briefs. I didn't have a chance to choose a pair of sweats from his drawer for him to sleep in because he started gagging. I caught him under the arms just in time to get him into the bathroom though he puked over the edge of the tub before I could get the toilet seat lid up. Sam always put it down which would've made him quite the prize to women if he were straight, but for me all it meant was a lot of cleaning later once I got him to sleep.

I remained crouched on my haunches, smoothing a hand up and down his back soothingly until the dry heaves eased. We waited things out for another ten minutes or so and when Sam leaned his forehead against the edge of the tub and nothing else came up, I got up to get two washcloths. I dampened them both under cool running water before turning off the faucet. One was laid across the back of Sam's neck. The other was handed to him so he could clumsily wipe his mouth with it.

Sam mumbled a slurred thank you before he took the little dixie cup filled with both water and mouthwash I swapped him for the towel. He rinsed his mouth, then spit out the pale green liquid into the pile of sick in the tub.

I took the cup to toss it into the garbage, then sat on the still closed toilet seat. "You okay?"

"I feel like shit."

"Yeah well, ingesting copious amounts of alcohol will do that to you. What were you thinkin’, Sam?"

"That I don't want to think," he said before carefully turning his big, broad body so he could lean back against the side of the porcelain tub. "That thinking is all I do lately and I just want to stop. I want it all to just... stop," he murmured.

I raised my eyebrow because there was something in that confession that didn't sit right with me though I couldn't put my finger on it. Or rather, I didn't want to because there were implications in those words that were a solid no fucking way as far as I was concerned. Granted, Sam had said similar things a lot recently after being told that he was being officially discharged from the army with honors. After breaking down in a panic attack in his CO's office when he'd been told that both Connor and Devlin were killed in action, no one could ignore the signs of PTSD that Sam had been living with after his team had been killed, in addition to whatever happened on the covert ops he never talked to anyone, not even me about.

Sam's PEL was just a formality. Before the thirty days of personal emergency leave to go home to Florida for Connor's funeral were up, the ink would be dry on his discharge paperwork because there wasn't a chance in hell that the military could let Sam re-enlist. Despite everything that he'd sacrificed for his country, he was done.

I'd tried getting leave for the funeral since Sam's family had been a second one to me all these years as much as he was a part of mine. But no matter how much loyalty to one another flowed through our veins, blood didn't and my request had been denied. Sam was going to have to navigate that cluster-fuck on his own, but after what he'd just said, I couldn't testify to his state of mind being safe.

"It's going to stop for tonight as soon as you go to sleep. So come on," I said, leaning over to press a kiss to the top of his head before I helped him to his feet only to make him sit on the closed toilet seat so I could fill another larger cup with water for him. Sam obediently drank it and one more before I handed him a third cup along with half of one of the sedatives from his medicine cabinet that’d been prescribed by a military shrink to help Sam deal with his anxiety attacks.

The bottle had looked completely untouched until I'd removed the one pill to break it in half.

Normally I'd never have mixed medication with alcohol, but I knew that the dose of the entire pill was the lowest possible one to begin with, so half blended with whatever little booze might be left in Sam's stomach after he'd puked and drunk all that water, would just put him out a little deeper than usual. He needed to sleep and I'd be staying the night anyway so I'd be able to monitor him.

Sam fought me on taking the pill at first. He'd mumbled that he wasn't crazy, but he'd finally swallowed the medicine after I'd told him that his two options were to take the pill and go the fuck to sleep, or to keep fighting me and force me to call an ambulance and have the hospital put him on suicide watch. I'd been half bluffing about the second option because I knew that as a medical professional as well as Sam's friend, my concern would hold a lot of weight if I reported this level of distress to any of Sam's superiors. It might also affect his military status and benefits, so I wasn't going to chance it.

Sam finally swallowed the pill, lifting his tongue obediently when asked so that I could make sure it was gone. He didn't protest when I helped him to his feet and walked him back to his bedroom. After I drew the covers back for him, he plopped heavily onto the mattress which dipped beneath his weight in one spot until he laid back and balance was restored. I drew the covers up over him, then dragged over the small wooden chair that he usually kept his gym clothes neatly folded on, from the corner.

There wasn't any clothing on it now, so I just sat in the chair and leaned over slightly, elbows on my knees and my hands clasped under my chin as I waited for Sam to fall asleep. It took less time than it might've without the sedative. Once his breathing evened out, I stood quietly and leaned over to carefully check Sam's pulse before I leaned over to press a kiss to the top of his head before raking my fingers gently through his hair.

"Not on my watch," I murmured before I straightened up. I had work to do before I could join him in bed.

Although Sam had been forced to turn in his service weapon when the discharge paperwork had been started, I knew how determined and resourceful he could be. Even though his place had been thoroughly searched for any secondary weapons and nothing had been found, his superiors didn't know Sam the way I did. They were familiar with the steady, stoic, dependable Seargent Samuel Trammel. I knew that Sam, but I also knew the overwhelmed and impulsive man Sam could become when he was spiraling. Getting his hands on a secondary weapon while still in the military would be next to impossible, but bullets were small and discreet—more easily hidden and easier for Sam to get his hands on and hoard if he decided to buy a handgun when he was back in Florida.

Trying not to make any noise even though it was unlikely he'd wake up because of the sedative, I pulled my cell out of my pocket and turned on the flashlight app. I didn't want to risk turning on the bedside lamp, so I was reliant on the light radiating from the phone to search every nook and cranny that I could possibly think of from the inside of Sam's dresser drawers and nightstand, to the inside of the hamper and sneakers that he didn't normally wear. It took a while, but I finally found a lone bullet hidden behind his alarm clock. It was a sloppy hiding place, spoke to the level of his mental disorganization.

I pocketed the bullet and kept searching. When I was satisfied that the rest of the bedroom was clean, I closed the bedroom door quietly behind me, then went to search the rest of the apartment.

I found a few more bullets in odd places the old Sam would've never put them in. He'd always been ridiculously responsible with his firearms and ammunition, but the bullets were all squirreled away for the same reason I had condoms all over my place—easy access.

It was in the kitchen that I hit the motherload.

I had no idea how Sam had managed acquire or hide the fully loaded, extended 9mm magazine when the apartment had been searched because I doubted that it'd always been kept behind his cereal boxes. His actual handgun wouldn't have been taken without a full magazine already in it. But none of that mattered as much as the fact that it was filled with fifteen ways to a permanent and violent exit.

"I want it all to just stop," was what Sam had said in the bathroom.

This would definitely help that happen.

I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to tamp down the combination of anger, fear and helplessness that was making my entire body vibrate. I hadn't felt this overwhelmed since Sam's stay in the Afghanistan hospital.

Dammit Sam. Why didn't you come to me? You always come to me.

Except that after that night in the hotel over a year ago, when he'd asked us to lose the latex to take that next step toward complete monogamy and I'd turned him down, things had changed between us. I’d felt it. On the surface things had seemed fine and Sam had acted like his usual self when we'd gotten back home. He'd never brought up going bare again and I'd gone back to sleeping around. We were still best friends, but I'd been aware of that invisible barrier that Sam had put between us to protect himself. This time, he'd been the one keeping up appearances and lying straight to my face when I asked him if he was okay.

Now I knew exactly how Sam felt when I played keep away with my emotions and it sucked donkey dick.

I couldn't risk confronting Sam about this and have him completely shut me out, so instead I’d texted A.J. to let him know what I’d found and asked him to be on standby in case he needed to get to Florida. Having retired, his civilian status gave him more options to travel on a moment’s notice, even though Sam had told us both he didn’t want us at the funeral because Connor didn’t deserve it.

A.J. confirmed immediately so I pressed my forehead against the cheap wooden cabinet for a moment, forcing in the deep breaths I needed to push down the loss of my best friend even though he was right in the next room. Like Sam, I wasn't big on talking about the deep stuff, but I was better at hiding it because charm came with practice and faking it till I made it. I knew how to enjoy life because I didn't let myself get stuck in my head like Sam often did. He hid his angst until he imploded. I hid my issues with ridiculous amounts of sex because the endorphin rush was a natural high that kept me alert enough to keep an eye on Sam and sharp in the ER, which was almost as exhausting.

Exhaling, I tried to slide into that calm, steady, combat medic mode as I straightened up and forced my shoulders back.

The bullets looked innocuous in my hand after I'd emptied the magazine—nothing like things that could shatter life for both the person getting the wrong end of them, and the ones who had to pick out a headstone after the bullets did their job.

I put all of the bullets into one of my inner jacket pockets and zipped it, then hid the empty magazine in one of the medical binders in my knapsack. I'd get rid of it when I got home. I was sure as fuck going to check all of Sam's bags and pockets before he got on the plane. He'd be pissed, but I didn't give a flying fuck.

After I was done securing everything, I went back into the bedroom. Sam was still out and didn't stir when the mattress dipped beneath my weight after I climbed into his bed. He was a little taller and broader than I was, but we still fit together like pieces of a puzzle when I tucked up behind him big spoon style, and slid my arm over his waist. He may not have known I was there, but I always would be, one way or another...

***

I forced myself to open my eyes and moved to the sink so I could run the cold water. It skated along my skin and invoked enough clarity for me to be able to focus again.

This shit was getting fucking ridiculous.

Get it together Max.

I rubbed one of the plush white hotel hand towels across my face to dry it, then hung it up neatly. That one mundane gesture helped reinstate a moment of calm. My life could sometimes get chaotic both in the personal and professional realms, but I was almost neurotically neat and organized most of the time. My apartment was spotless from dresser drawers to kitchen cabinets. Not because I was domestic, but because it gave me control over at least one aspect of my life. If I'd had a cutlery drawer to organize right now, things would be froggy.

Sam glanced up with a smile when I re-opened the bathroom door and came back into the room. He held up both wrists in triumph so I could look at the cufflinks he'd managed to get into place.

"Good job, but my gold star stickers are in my other jacket."

Sam flipped me off with a grin and I managed one back. All those years of going through the perfunctory 'bless your heart' motions in Louisiana had served me well.

"What do you think?"

I took a step back to let my gaze sweep over Sam. Despite the snowflake tie, the rest of the scenery was amazing. 6'2 and all broad shouldered, long legged, fine-as-hell muscle in a well fitted suit that displayed it elegantly. Even the faintly metallic sheen to the material was flattering against his Floridian tan, emphasizing the color of his eyes. Soulful, beautiful eyes that Ben was going to be looking into when they promised to love one another for the rest of their lives.

I smiled to soften the tension in my jaw. "Ben won't know what hit him. You ready to go down?"

"Yeah. I just need a few minutes."

I nodded because that worked for me. It gave me a little more time to get my head on straight so I could get through the ceremony and my best man speech at the reception before I took full advantage of the open bar.

"I'm going to find Tara and see if I missed anythin’ on her checklist of proper best man protocol and duties for the day. Getting’ bossed around by a sexy blonde dressed up like a Disney Cosplay princess is hot, even if she is a happy lesbian."

My grin was genuine this time because my gorgeous and leggy female best friend wasn't the sweetness and light Disney fangirl type. To say she was less than thrilled of being Emma's personal version of Elsa was an understatement. I owed that kid a crate of sprinkles just for the photo ops alone.

"I'll meet you downstairs. Tara said we're goin’ to walk out to the beach first, and then she and Ben will come down the aisle. Apparently, he's the bride in Emma's vision."

My smirk was at Ben's expense and Sam snickered, all his earlier doubts seeming to have completely disappeared because I was still that good at talking him down.

Bully for me.

"He's as helpless against her as we are. She's got him wrapped around every finger on both hands."

"When she becomes a teenager, we're all goners. If you and Ben have a daughter, it'll be the end of life as we know it, and probably life sentences for the three of us and A.J. when boys start droppin’ by the house."

Sam chuckled again. "You have the rings?"

"I have yours. Tara has Ben's. Apparently, we're sharin’ best people duties. Don't worry Sam," I said as I briefly patted his shoulder. "We've got your back. Ben has your heart and your dick. It's all good."

Sam flipped me off, but he was laughing as I closed the door behind me, apparently too distracted to notice that my smile never widened enough to turn into laughter of my own.