Page 4 of Aftermath #1

4

G ale, a patient woman, was in her mid-forties, Austin guessed. Wavy, black hair, brown eyes, kindness ever present, and red lipstick on her teeth. She could stare all day long, never breaking the silence that stretched on. She had asked him about his anger, and he didn’t want to answer. He didn’t know how to answer.

Austin felt like a damn fool for being here.

As much as he resented Jade for asking him to forget it all and leave the past in the past, he wanted to do the same. He wanted to go back to normal where he knew what he was doing. Things were simpler then. He'd wake up, get ready, eat breakfast, take Riley to school if Jade had an early meeting, then head off to work, crunch numbers, analyze statistics, hold meetings, report to the main office in LA, come home, eat dinner, help Riley with her homework, watch some TV, go to bed, on occasion make love to his wife… On weekends, they'd spend time as a family, go visit Riley's grandparents—do normal stuff together. There were barbecues, day trips, vacations.

Yesterday after he had left Cam's house, he'd been passive and silent while Jade prepared dinner. He'd pretended to listen to Riley's retelling of her day at the zoo with Austin's folks. Then, that night, he'd fucked Jade for the first time. Ever.

He had always been an attentive lover, but he didn’t feel it anymore. He had so much shit bottled up inside him; there was no patience, no tenderness, no foreplay. He had fucked her, plain and simple, and Jade had moaned in all the right places, but he wasn’t stupid. She hadn't liked it at all.

Austin wasn’t himself anymore, and it unnerved him.

Jade certainly didn’t like the new version of him.

"Things aren’t easy anymore," he said, shifting in his seat. Today was the first day in months he was wearing a suit. He didn’t know why he'd put it on this morning. Perhaps it was to feel more like his old self? Regardless, it wasn’t working. "There's no, uh…" He searched for the right word. "Stability."

"Understandable." Gale nodded. "It will take time to get back to what you're used to—if it'll ever happen. You need to remember that what you've been through has changed many things."

Austin didn’t need that reminder.

"How have you spent your days since you were released from the hospital?" Gale asked with a tilt of her head.

He sighed and leaned back, thinking mainly about Riley. "I've done what you suggested; I've spent time with my family. I've taken things slowly, readjusting and so on." He ran a hand through his light brown hair. It wasn’t as styled as it had been in the past. No wax. It used to be a lot shorter than the three or so inches it was now, and it was messy, to boot. There was also a night's worth of scruff, and he hadn't bothered with cologne or anything. He didn’t feel like it. "I've…relaxed?" He didn’t know why that came out as a question.

"You don’t like relaxing?" she guessed.

Austin shrugged. "It was easier when I had a routine to follow."

When Gale asked him what a "normal" day entailed, Austin told her—in great detail. From the breakfast he usually ate and how he got ready in the morning, to how they worked together in the evenings with dinner, homework, clearing the table, and going to bed.

"That’s not only about liking routines," she said gently. "It's also about being in control. You know what's happening around you, and you know your tasks. You prefer a well-oiled machine because nothing is strange or new. And, Austin—" she leaned forward in her seat "—you weren’t in control when you were held against your will. It's no wonder you're angry."

Austin said nothing, though her words did make sense. But it wasn’t only about that. He felt like…like a…damn, he didn’t even know. A failure? Maybe. Because in the past, he hadn't failed when it really mattered. He was a decent husband, a good father, and he could provide for his family. He made sure to take time aside with his girls, too. A weekend here with Jade, a weekend there with Riley.

Now there was no routine. There was a bunch of new crap, and…there was Cam.

He frowned and looked down.

Austin began to notice how fidgety and agitated Cam became the crazier their kidnapper turned out to be. He was repeating things to himself, too. Over and over, Cam would mumble about loss of control as he seemed to tap his fingers together. No, Austin changed his mind; it was the pad of his thumb that he tapped to his other fingers. Cam's…quirk…caused his cuffs to clink softly with each movement, and that annoyed Austin.

In turn, Austin's constant pacing and need to check the bolts and screws in the walls seemed to irritate the ever-loving fuck out of Cam.

"You're only making it worse," Austin snapped one day, referring to Cam's wrists. They were a lot redder than Austin's, even bleeding in one spot. "Jesus Christ. Why haven't the police found us yet?" He pulled at his hair, feeling like he was going crazy. "There has to be a way out."

"Yeah. Psycho only forgot to tell us," Cam said dryly.

Austin shot him a glare.

"He kept talking about control." Austin stared out the massive window behind Gale. "I didn't know I'm just as dependent on it." Only, Austin didn’t get anxiety attacks like Cam did. He grew angry. Furious, even.

"Where are you now, Austin?" Gale asked softly. "Who are you talking about?"

Austin cleared his throat and straightened. "Cam. Back when… back then , Cam would talk about losing control. We weren’t in control. And he had anxiety attacks." Thinking back on it only made him angrier. "He was a damn pain to help," he chuckled darkly. "I know the reason, obviously, but…" Being unable to help—that was a major trigger, he realized. And now, now he couldn’t even help himself .

When he faced Gale again, she was studying him curiously, and Austin didn’t blame her. He was mumbling nonsense, everything out of context; of course she was confused. At least, he figured she was confused. Hell, so was he.

"Austin, do you feel like Cam was or is your responsibility?"

In another part of Bakersfield, Cam was in the living room opening his gift from Landon and Jules. Well, there wasn’t a lot to open; it was a box with a lid, and it was moving. He grinned and flipped up the lid, then hid the fact that he felt like shedding tears of relief. Why he hadn't thought of this himself was beyond him.

He would feel safer now. Call it a gut feeling.

"If you don’t like him, Landon and I have already talked about getting a dog," Jules said quickly, looking worried.

Cam squatted down and petted the head of the Husky pup. "Nah, this guy ain't going anywhere."

Landon and he had had a Husky when they were kids. A damn good dog. This one was definitely gonna keep Cam active, too. That was a good thing. Huskies weren’t put on this earth to mosey around and be lazy.

"How old is he?" He picked up the puppy. He chuckled as the dog licked his face, and just like the one he'd had as a kid, this one had light blue eyes and a cream and light brown-colored coat.

"Twelve weeks." Landon smiled at the puppy and his little brother. "You're gonna have to pick out two names."

Cam nodded and ignored the other party guests in the backyard. It was calmer here in the living room. "You think Mom will be pissed if I name this one after a drink, too?"

Landon smirked. "You were seven the last time. You weren't supposed to know about booze yet."

Well, their dad had approved of Irish Coffee. Two names—a dog had to have two names; it was a rule. Irish for short.

Cam wasn’t big on affection with just anyone; personal space was important, but his brother and Jules weren’t strangers. They'd earned his trust years ago. Walking over to them, he kissed Jules on the cheek and hugged Landon, saying thanks more than once. He doubted they knew how much he appreciated this kind of gift.

"Thank you," he said again, averting his gaze to the puppy. When shit got emotional, he didn’t like direct eye contact. "What do you think about keeping it Irish?" After all, their mother was Irish, even though she was born in Cali. Her maiden name was Mulligan. "Or we could piss off Mom and say we're keeping it Irish, then we call him Bourbon."

God forbid if Lily Nash was around to hear you call Irish whiskey bourbon, or even worse, Scotch. The woman knew her booze.

"Harsh," Jules laughed.

"How would she know your intention?" Landon countered.

Cam shrugged. "Bourbon Mulligan oughta do it." He nuzzled the soft patch of fur on the top of the puppy's head. "Yeah, I'm sticking with it. Bourbon." Hey, it went well with the dog's coloring, too. "Let's go introduce the Irish." He grinned and carried Bourbon out on the patio where his parents were talking to some of the guys from Landon's garage and a few cousins on Jonathan's side. "Mom." He came up behind her and draped an arm around her shoulders. "I want you to meet Bourbon Mulligan."

Lily stared up at her youngest son with a blank expression.

"Oh, boy." Jonathan snorted. "Here we go."

"You think that’s funny?" Lily asked flatly. "You know, honey, I'm all for peace and love, but perhaps you're not too old for a damn spanking—"

"Oh!" Cam cracked up. "You kiss your husband with that mouth?" He winked and left his parents to grab a beer.

Everyone knew Cam didn’t like to be crowded, so they didn’t get too close when he sat down on one of the patio chairs next to Landon. He sipped his beer, mostly staying quiet, and watched as his new dog played around with a tennis ball.

It was the only toy he had in his house, so he made a mental note to pick up some more tomorrow. From the guys at work, he was given a gift card to a pet superstore, a bag of puppy food, a leash, and a bowl set for food and water, all of which had Jules's name written over them. That was how men worked. They handed their money to the women, who went shopping.

"You got the usual from Mom and Dad?" Landon asked.

Cam nodded. That meant five hundred bucks in a savings bond and a year's subscription to Hot Rod and Automobile .

Bringing out his new phone—the old one was lost the day he was kidnapped—he snapped off a shot of Bourbon and texted it to Austin with the caption, "My new housemate."

"Who'd you send that to?"

"Austin," Cam mumbled, eyeing the bandages on his wrists. They were coming off soon, and he knew he'd always have to live with the scars. He had scars all over his body, but these were the deepest. Five months of being cuffed almost constantly had made sure of that.

"Yeah, he was here yesterday, wasn’t he?" Landon asked and grabbed a handful of peanuts from the table. "I'm surprised Ethan hasn’t spoken to you about that guy."

" Who ?" Cam's head snapped in his brother's direction.

Landon frowned, confused, and nodded at the dudes by the grill. "Ethan? Jack's partner. Said he thought it was a shame Austin was straight or whatever." He rolled his eyes. "He read about the Huntleys in the papers—saw Austin's picture."

"Right." Cam breathed in through clenched teeth, feeling stupid. He thought his brother had said Evan . Big difference. Jesus fucking Christ.

A week or so later, their "boss" came down and announced his name was now Mr. Strong and that he wanted to speak to Evan.

There was no response.

"Insane motherfucker." Cam brought both hands up to push back some of his hair.

He reeked, despite washing off daily and using that fucking bar of soap, but it didn’t matter. It was humid down here and smelled of mildew. On top of that, at least one had vomited and missed the fucking toilet. It also smelled like piss, which almost made Cam wish they had an impenetrable roof to their cell, too. Alas, it was a metal cover with finger-width sized holes everywhere. Just enough for the light to seep through when Psycho decided they'd had too much darkness.

And Christ, he needed a smoke. Bad. Hell, it would make the place smell better.

"Wait. The scripts." Austin kept his voice low. "It said another name on mine." He picked up the papers off the floor and pointed to the top corner. "Sam."

"There's no Evan here!" someone shouted angrily.

Cam frowned as he spotted the name on his script, as Austin called it.

"It says Evan on mine," he whispered.

"I don’t fucking get it," Landon was saying, but Cam wasn’t really following. He was busy steadying his breathing. "Do they share dudes? I mean, if Jules said it was a shame some other man was gay, I would pound his ass."

"He'd probably like that," Cam replied automatically.

It earned him a punch on his arm. "That’s not how I meant it, bro." Landon scowled at how easily he'd fallen into that one. "But can you answer my question?"

"What question?"

Landon took on an impatient expression. "Do gay guys generally share each other?"

Cam couldn’t help but laugh. "Christ, you're stupid. Why the fuck would they?" He thought back on Jack's partner's comment about Austin. "It was probably just a compliment, idiot."

"Well, how would I know? I'm not gay."

"You say that as if I am."

"You do play for both teams," Landon pointed out.

Cam shrugged. "So fucking what? Does that make me an expert?" Sometimes his brother could be dumb. "I can't believe we're even talking about this. What are you, a fucking woman?"

Landon didn’t miss a beat. "See the belly on that one?" He pointed at Jules, who was laughing about something with their mother. "I think that proves what I'm equipped with."

"Whatever." Cam sighed as his phone beeped with a text from Austin, or Mr. MBA, as he was labeled in his contact list.

If Riley sees that, she'll run away from home and we'll find her at your place. I'm deleting this photo now. Happy birthday, by the way.

Cam smiled to himself and pocketed the phone. At first he'd been a little worried Austin's abrupt departure yesterday would cause a rift or something, but apparently not. Then again, they'd fought before, and that hadn't changed anything.

Later that night, when it was only Cam and Bourbon in the house, the wounds of today's flashback were too fresh for him to relax.

All the windows remained open, screens in place to keep out the bugs, and the lights were on. But it wasn’t enough. Sitting on the bed in his living room, he struggled to not think back, to not feel like he was suffocating.

"I'm not Evan," he mumbled to himself, tapping his thumb to his other fingers. "I'm not Evan." Someone else was. "I'm not Evan." The profiler at the FBI had pieced together a lot about the motherfucker who had kidnapped ten guys, but all they had was an educated guess. "I'm not Evan."

His breathing wasn’t slowing down, but he hated taking a pill for his goddamn anxiety disorder. Before the kidnapping, he hadn't had an attack in so fucking long, and now they were ruling his life. But there was one thing that had worked in captivity. Or rather, someone.

He swiped up his phone and called Austin.