Julian seemed to make a massive effort to focus his eyes, and he looked up at Cameron blankly. Cameron wanted to yell at him to snap out of it. He couldn’t ask him all the questions he wanted to ask or kick him in the shin until Julian was once again healthy and in his right mind. Instead of shouting, he stepped closer and slid his hand behind Julian’s good shoulder. “Careful,” he warned softly as he guided Julian to lie back against the pillows.
Julian reached up slowly and gripped Cameron’s wrist. He looked up into Cameron’s eyes, still slightly distant but obviously attempting to fight the remainder of the morphine he had been given. “I missed you,” he stated softly.
A bolt shot through his chest, and Cameron bit his lip against a pained moan. Searching Julian’s eyes before answering, he slowly nodded. After several moments of staring into Julian’s dark eyes, he finally realized that he didn’t know what to say.
Julian breathed out raggedly and looked down at Cameron’s hand. He pulled it closer and slid his lips along the inside of Cameron’s wrist before he pushed his face into Cameron’s palm and closed his eyes again.
Cameron squeezed his eyes shut as he cupped Julian’s cheek, stroking the stubbled skin with his fingertips. He’d missed Julian so much he hadn’t been able to breathe without it hurting. Cameron didn’t want to hurt anymore. He didn’t want either of them to be in pain.
“You need to rest,” he urged softly. But he couldn’t force himself to move his hand away.
Julian nodded and lowered his head dejectedly, and then he moved gingerly to lie down.
“Are you hurting?” Cameron asked as he carefully placed his hand at Julian’s forehead, afraid the painkillers had worn off already.
“No,” Julian answered weakly as he released Cameron’s hand and slid down to lay on his back. It was the first time Cameron had heard him lie and not put any effort into making it believable. He stared at the ceiling for a long moment and then closed his eyes slowly.
“I’ll be out in the living room if you need anything,” Cameron told him, unable to be in the same room any longer.
Julian merely nodded to let Cameron know he had heard. He kept his eyes closed, and finally he rolled onto his side, despite the obvious pain, and curled slowly. Smith and Wesson were immediately beside him, curling against him and purring loudly.
Exhausted, Cameron let Julian move as he wanted and left the bedroom, closing the door behind him before he had to stop and pinch the bridge of his nose.
“Are you okay?” Blake asked pointedly, noticeably inquiring after Cameron instead of Julian.
After a long moment, Cameron dropped his hand. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. He trudged toward the kitchen where Preston sat at the kitchen table, calmly drinking a cup of coffee. Cameron thought this was Preston’s apartment. Cameron was afraid to ask if Julian had been living here. It wasn’t far from Cameron’s own.
Blake watched Cameron for a long moment before moving slowly to sit across from Preston. “You’ll feel better once you hit him,” he murmured sympathetically.
Cameron’s jaw clenched, and he practically collapsed into the chair at the head of the table. Blake glanced at him and sighed softly.
“I’m not judging you, son,” Blake assured him. “I missed him like hell, and I barely like the bastard,” he said with a nod of his head at the closed bedroom doors.
Cameron’s nose wrinkled. “He’s only a bastard some of the time,” he defended.
Blake gave a snort and shook his head. “Expect it to get worse. He’s not good at being hurt.”
“Did you see him the time he was wearing the sling and still came to the restaurant to eat?” Cameron asked abruptly. “He told me later it was because he’d missed the week before. It was before I really realized why he was there every Tuesday. He’d been shot two weeks before—and he still came to dinner.”
Blake nodded his head slowly. “I didn’t mean hurt physically,” he said softly. “Although he is a horrible patient. Did you serve him one night in late November, when he ordered an extra glass of wine?”
Cameron tipped his head to one side. “Yeah, I did,” he said. “That was when it started. He asked me if I liked my job.”
Blake looked over at Cameron thoughtfully and then huffed softy. “Well. That extra glass of wine? That was Arlo’s. It was the anniversary of the day Julian tossed him out on his ass. Every year, Julian would order him a glass of wine, regret who he was and what he did, and usually end up too drunk to stand.”
Cameron frowned. “He didn’t stay. I remember thinking it was a very odd night. Two glasses of wine, didn’t even touch his dinner… and he left me a two-hundred-dollar tip.”
Blake nodded. “I know,” he said with a sigh. “I called him on a job that night. I remember being afraid I hadn’t caught him in time, that he’d be too drunk to do it. That was where the shot in the arm came from. My point, though, is that he regretted the way he and Arlo parted. I think, deep down, Julian didn’t mind dying if it was Arlo doing it.”
“So why did that change? Why did Julian start trying to kill him?” Cameron asked.
Blake shrugged. “That, you’ll have to ask him. Julian’s mind doesn’t work like a normal person’s.”
Cameron inhaled deeply. He’d wondered—feared—that he was the reason for Julian’s change of heart. He pushed the thought away.
Preston glanced over at them and cleared his throat. “He loved you, Mr. Jacobs,” he stated evenly. “In his way. He loved Mr. Lancaster too.”
“I know he loved me,” Cameron said in a small voice, surprised that Preston had spoken at all. Pain lanced through him as he looked back at the bedroom doors. “But I threw it away.”
“Cam, I’ve never seen him like he is with you,” Blake said. “He’s… a totally different man. Maybe who he would have been, if life were different. Even after you broke it off, he still loved you.”
“He didn’t love me enough to let me know he was still alive,” Cameron whispered.
Preston was silent, his eyes on Cameron, who looked back at him expectantly.
“Why didn’t he try?” Cameron demanded, anger coming to the fore. After tonight, his nerves and control were shot, and he didn’t have the fortitude or the desire to hold anything back.
Preston responded to the anger by merely blinking and meeting Cameron’s eyes expressionlessly.
Cameron turned his chin sharply toward Blake. “You said he still loves me, even after what I did. Then why didn’t he tell me?”
“Cam, it’s not that simple,” Blake began.
“You’re pissed at him too! He left us thinking all this time that he was dead!” Cameron continued, his voice rising and his face flushing as he stood up and started pacing.
“I know, but, Cam—”
“No. No buts, Blake. One phone call. One e-mail. One something to let me know he was still breathing. If he forgives me, if he cares for me so much, why leave me to suffer all this time?” Cameron spit out, trembling as his emotions got the better of him.
“That, I don’t know, sir,” Preston answered calmly, as if Cameron had asked about the weather. “Mr. Cross has a reason for everything he does or doesn’t do. That doesn’t mean I always understand.”
Cameron swallowed hard and looked at Blake for an answer. Blake met his eyes, and then he closed his own and shook his head. Cameron turned on his heel, grabbed the jacket Preston had laid out for him, and left the apartment.
Roughly a week after his ordeal, Cameron still refused to answer the door or the telephone. He stayed in his apartment with his dogs, stewing angrily over Julian’s deception and throwing things when he thought about how many times he’d dreamed about Julian coming back to him.
It wasn’t fair, to know he was alive and yet be so angry at him. And it was worse than that if what Blake said about Julian still loving him was true.
Cameron was sitting on his couch, staring out the window blearily when the buzzer rang. He didn’t move, letting it ring a
gain. It continued to ring demandingly until Cameron turned his head slowly to glare at it. Finally, he got up and dragged across the hardwood floor in his bare feet to punch at the button.
“What?” he snapped. Last time it had been Miri, trying to deliver a care package from the restaurant.
“Let me in, Cameron,” Julian’s soft voice demanded in a no-nonsense tone.
Cameron pushed the button without even thinking about it, and then he shook his head in exasperation at how automatic it was to just do as Julian said. Knowing he was coming, Cameron unlocked the door and moved away, sighing as he headed back for the couch. He was beginning to tremble as he sat and wrapped himself up in a throw blanket.
Why was Julian here?
When the knob turned, Cameron caught his breath. He could only stare and try not to shake as Julian stepped into the apartment. He shrugged out of his coat and hung it on one of the hooks beside the door, and he cocked his head and looked at Cameron, not coming further into the apartment. Cameron was surprised to see that he was wearing his sling. He must have been in a lot of pain to deal with the cumbersome thing, and he still moved slowly as if he hurt all over.
Cameron stared at him, unable to think of a single, solitary thing to say.
“Hello, Cameron,” Julian murmured softly, the Irish accent still seeming unusual and foreign out of his mouth.
Cameron blinked and opened his mouth to say something, but just as quickly closed it and shook his head. He swallowed with difficulty, allowing himself to look at his erstwhile lover. He was wearing jeans, boots, and a plain blue T-shirt. Cameron had never seen him in anything but an expensive suit or… nothing at all. It was disconcerting.
“Hi,” he finally whispered.
“You look well,” Julian observed after a moment of silence.
At that moment, the dogs came stumbling out of the bedroom area where they’d been napping in front of the fireplace and scampered toward the entry to swarm Julian’s ankles.
“Blake’s been taking care of you?” Julian asked as the dogs latched onto his shoelaces and the hems of his jeans. He didn’t look away from Cameron as they cavorted around him. “May I come in?” he asked when Cameron didn’t answer.
Cameron was too dazed to do anything but nod. He didn’t want to look away, even for a second. As angry as he was, he thought he would have been able to remain composed in Julian’s presence, but seeing him again, here in his own home, was both painful and wonderful. What… why… how… questions swirled in his head, and there was no way he could pick just one, so he shut his mouth and climbed off the couch. He met Julian’s eyes deliberately and walked the several steps forward to stand more than an arm’s length away from the other man.
“You look really good,” Julian whispered appraisingly as he watched Cameron.
Some of the shock ebbed, replaced by a terribly painful ache Cameron thought he’d gotten over. “Thank you,” he murmured.
“I’m sorry for what I’ve done,” Julian offered regretfully.
Cameron sighed heavily and looked up at Julian, his eyes intent on the other man. He stepped a little closer, a couple feet away, and reached out to ghost his fingers over Julian’s cheek. When Cameron pulled his hand away, Julian closed his eyes and lowered his head.
He never saw Cameron’s fist coming.
Julian staggered back a step and shook his head, putting his hand to his lip as it seeped blood. He huffed slightly and looked down at Cameron with a little nod. “I was sort of expecting that earlier,” he admitted.
“You son of a bitch,” Cameron bit off, wincing and shaking his hand out at his side. “What the fuck?”
“I’m sorry,” Julian offered softly. “I had to disappear if I wanted to live.”
“Live? Live?” Cameron asked incredulously. “But you’re dead!”
“In theory,” Julian agreed with a wince.
“A theory I’ve had to live with for six months!” Cameron said sharply as his hand curled back into a fist.
Julian’s eyes darted to the clenched fist warily, and he lowered his chin. “I know,” he said curtly. He didn’t offer another apology.
The tone of Julian’s voice cut Cameron deeply, and the upset overwhelmed the anger, for the moment. “Where have you been?” he asked brokenly.
“Trying to bury myself,” Julian said in answer.
Cameron couldn’t keep back the torn scoff. “Good luck with that, ’cause it’s already been done!” he snapped. He ran his hand through his hair and took a steadying breath as he stared toward the kitchen. He knew if he continued to look at Julian, he’d have an absolute fit. “Did Blake know?” he asked in a dark, angry voice.
“No,” Julian answered with another wince. “I spoke to him this morning,” he added. “He hit me again. Twice.”
Cameron had to laugh, but it was a soft, broken sound. “Pretty deserved, if you ask me.” He looked back at Julian and narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know what to say, Julian,” he whispered. “You were out there, alive and well, and you never once tried to tell me. Never once tried to let me know you were okay.”
Julian bowed his head and slid his hands slowly into his pockets.
“How did you do it?” Cameron demanded.
Julian winced and looked up at him again. “Preston bribed the doctors, told them to declare me dead and hide me under false names. They kept me there until I could move on my own. I was on my back for three weeks, recovering for another six,” he told Cameron softly. “When I was sure I could handle myself once more, I had to make certain Arlo wasn’t out there, waiting. I couldn’t contact you. I didn’t want to see you in danger again because of me.”
It made sense, but that didn’t make it hurt an iota less. Cameron was a different man because of having Julian in his life, because of the love, the fear, the pain, and the danger. “And now?” he asked shakily.
Julian gave a slightly self-conscious shrug. “There’s no more contract because I’m dead. He’s gone. And I’m back.”
“You’re back,” Cameron repeated softly, everything, everywhere hurting. He wanted so badly to reach out and curl around Julian to try to make himself believe he was really here and forget all the pain. “But nothing’s changed. There’s more like him still out there still looking to hurt you. It’s still just as dangerous as it was two weeks ago when I thought you were dead and you were too much of a coward to come tell me you weren’t!”
“That’s true, yes,” Julian affirmed, his normally impassive face displaying a hint of pain at Cameron’s words.
Cameron’s fingers dug into his own arms. “So, what now? Why are you here? Would you have ever come back?” he asked painfully. “If he hadn’t shown himself? Would you ever have come back to me?”
Julian was silent as he turned his head and studied Cameron. “Last I heard, you wanted me gone,” he finally reminded softly. “It wasn’t my right, to show up here and beg you to take me back.”
Cameron blinked at him stupidly.
“But now?” Julian continued calmly. “I don’t care if I have the right or not. I was hoping that after the anger had passed, you might want me to stick around.”
Cameron exhaled shakily, and he raised both hands to rub at his face before dropping them again to return Julian’s even gaze. “And how long do you think that will take? For the anger to pass? Because I’ll tell you right now I have no idea how to deal with this.”
Julian shrugged uncomfortably. “I suppose it will take a while,” he nearly mumbled.
Letting out a strangled sound of frustration, Cameron turned and clenched his fists. “It’s not going to be easy,” he said hoarsely.
“Not if you’re angry,” Julian agreed. “Not if you can’t forgive me.”
“I fell apart when you were gone, and it took all this time to put myself back together,” Cameron said, voice choking on pent-up anger and pain. “And now… Julian, Christ.” He squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his head, fighting for control.
Julian was
silent. They both knew how hollow the words “I’m sorry” could sound. Cameron was sorely tempted to tell him to leave just to get this source of pain out of his life. But he knew if he refused Julian today, he would never see the man again, and that idea hurt even more.
Cameron managed to hold it together and opened his eyes to look at Julian as he edged away. It broke his heart all over again, to see that look on Julian’s face. “Please,” he croaked. “Don’t leave. Not again.”
“I never left,” Julian insisted quietly with a shake of his head.
Cameron studied Julian for a long moment as his heartbeat thumped in his throat. Then he nodded slowly. Trying to regain some measure of composure, Cameron glanced to the kitchen. “I need a drink. You want a drink? I’m getting a drink.” He walked off to the kitchen without waiting for a response.