Torch (Unbreakable Bonds 3)

Chapter 16They were driving each other crazy and it was only a matter of time before one of them finally exploded. Attempting to work together was fast becoming ridiculous and he’d been at Ward Security for less than a week. Rowe had stuffed him into training for three days and then shoved him behind a computer—as if Noah knew a damn thing about hacker tech bullshit. He was happy when he didn’t lock himself out of his own fucking email most days.

He belonged in the field. He had more than a decade of experience as an Army Ranger. He knew how to protect himself and others. But every time he tried to broach the subject with Rowe, the man muttered something and brushed it aside with some nonsense about meetings. There was a small voice in his brain saying that Rowe was just trying to keep him safe, which would have been touching if Noah wasn’t insulted about Rowe’s lack of faith in his skills.

The only time they seemed to be getting along was when they were in bed together. That had been absolutely brain melting, but lasted only until Rowe slid out of bed, leaving Noah feeling cold and alone.

When they’d gotten up to another awkward breakfast that Friday, Noah did the only thing he could think of to save their friendship: he lied. He made up some nonsense about needing to run some errands, buy clothes, get a new driver’s license, health care, whatever. By the time, he finally stopped rambling, he was sure Rowe didn’t actually believe him, but Rowe easily agreed to the day off. It gave them both the space they needed to get their heads on straight.

But now he was in Rowe’s house, alone with only the dogs, and he realized that he wished he was in the office so he could hear the other man’s voice or pop his head in Rowe’s office randomly just to make him laugh. He was becoming pathetic.

With clothes in the washer and dryer, Noah bummed around Rowe’s house, trying to figure out what to do with himself. He thought about checking his email, but the only ones he’d ever really looked forward to had come from Rowe. He had a few friends who occasionally wrote, so he’d have to plug in his laptop at some point. If it still worked. He’d knocked it around a lot.

He poked through the house, but there wasn’t a lot to look at. Everything was functional and utilitarian. There weren’t any personal knickknacks anywhere in the house and it made his heart ache. It was like Rowe had just been existing. Though, he had no room to talk. He hadn’t had a real home in longer than he could remember. Not since he’d lived with his grandmother. His parents had been killed just after his eighth birthday and he’d been sent to Alabama where he’d pretended to be someone else all throughout high school. He’d loved his grandmother and had always felt welcome with her, but he’d never told her he was gay. He’d been too afraid of losing her love and of disappointing her. So, he’d had a home—but it hadn’t been an honest one. The day he’d left the Army, he’d vowed to live the rest of his life honestly.

And here he was having sex with the one man he wanted above all others and he wasn’t being completely honest with him. If he were, he’d tell him how he really felt.

After finding a huge pile of dirty clothes in Rowe’s bathroom, he settled in to wash those along with his own. In between shuffling loads from the washer to dryer, he reacquainted himself with music on his new guitar. He’d once had dreams of being a songwriter, but lyrics had never come easily to him. The music did, though. He could play the guitar and the piano and he yearned for the day he had a stable place where he could have access to a piano as well. He’d never understood why, but when he picked up an instrument, it was like his brain came to life, electricity sparking and firing him up with creativity. He could see the notes in his head. There had been no time for music in the service and he planned to make it more a priority from then on out. He told himself it was better late than never and he spent the afternoon strumming chords and writing them down.

He hadn’t played in a long time, but his fingers returned to the chords with a familiarity that felt more like home than anything in his life had in a long, long time.

Kind of like the way Rowe felt.

This past week with him had been the hottest time of Noah’s life. But it was fast becoming the hardest as well. This morning’s awkward breakfast conversation had been over yet another cooked apology from Rowe. This time something that resembled waffles but leaned more toward the cardboard food group. Rowe really shouldn’t be allowed to cook.