Page 24 of Constantly Cotton

Cotton stood and put one shoulder under Jason’s arm when Burton stopped him.

“Kid? Are all those muscles for show?”

Cotton winced. “Nossir.” All one word, because that’s what this man did for him.

“Then you hoist that man up like the princess of your dreams and follow me.”

“Not the first time,” Jason mumbled, allowing himself to be hoisted and wrapping his arms around Cotton’s neck.

“Well, you know, a little food, a little PT—” Cotton paused to weave in and out of the doorframe. “—and you’ll do the same for me.”

Burton snorted in front of them but continued his brisk walk. Cotton kept up, a part of him relieved to be outside and walking after a week of having his only ventures out be into the apartment weight room or the laundromat.

“I can too carry him,” Jason protested as Cotton slid him into the back of… well, a big old land yacht, really. Something huge and powder blue and clunky.

“Not right now, Colonel,” Burton said crisply. “Now get in the Crown Vic like a good boy and let me take care of business.”

At that moment, Cotton was surprised to see two men—one ginormous, with the same kind of knife sticking out of his shoulder that had been thrown into the dead guy’s arm—pulling out of the parking lot in Lance’s red Mazda.

“Oh my God! They’re stealing Lance’s car!”

Burton snorted. “No, they’reborrowinghis car, with… well, his forgiveness. Don’t worry about it. Now climb in there, kid—”

“Cotton,” he said, feeling naked and stupid and wanting this crisp, efficient, terrifying soldier to know he was a person.

“Cotton,” the man said, his voice softening. “Don’t worry, we won’t steal your friend’s car. I mean, he’s our doctor, right? Took care of Jason? Yeah. We’ll do right by him.”

Cotton gave him a brief smile. “Thanks.”

He slid into the back seat, and Burton closed the door. Almost unconsciously, Jason lifted his arm, and Cotton gratefully leaned against him. Yes, he was still sick and still weak, but he felt solid and reassuring and kind.

He made himself comfortable, safe in the heaviness of Jason’s arm over his shoulders, while Burton made a series of short, terse phone calls, some of them to people Cotton knew. When he was done, Cotton gave him a few minutes to breathe while he negotiated the traffic on I-80 East.

“Tahoe?” he hazarded, and Burton gave a short nod in the front of the car.

“Small cabin off the lake, back from the road. I can get a couple of guys from our unit to watch over it. I’ll feel a lot safer with you guys somewhere not here.”

“Did you check the car for trackers?” Jason asked, and Burton swore.

“And that,” he muttered, swerving off the road at the sign for Roseville, “is the reason you make the big bucks. Can I get an authorization on an expenditure, sir?”

“Sure,” Jason murmured, yawning. “But you’d better drop us off at a hotel so I can put on a shirt and stop bleeding in the back of this vehicle.”

“Goddammit.”

THEY FOUNDa hotel—not cheap but not the Ritz either—and Cotton used his credit card for the bill and some takeout while Burton traded in the vehicle for a new one.

“I’ll reimburse you for this,” Jason muttered as they both indulged in some In-N-Out. Cotton had gotten some for Burton too, because he seemed like he was having a stressful day.

“For In-N-Out?” Cotton laughed. “This is like holiday eating right here.”

“You’ve got beef wrapped in lettuce with some mustard,” Jason said dryly. “That’s like diet food.”

“Ground beef. If it was ground turkey, then we’d be talking.” Still, Cotton took a delicate bite of his protein-style single patty and enjoyed the salty goodness. “Back in my modeling days, this would be two days’ worth of food.”

“Get out!” Jason stared at him. “Seriously? For as much as you guys work out?”

Cotton shrugged. “Well, it depended on how close we were to being on camera. Having defined muscles for the camera is a matter of fat-and-water balance to muscle mass. About three days before our scenes, we would pretty much go to liquid diet only—clear juice and broth and vitamins. By the time we were done filming, we were either starving or light-headed or both. So a couple of days restoring our electrolyte balance, then lots of working out and eating right, and then some more fasting.” He took another happy bite of his burger. “Mm. Seriously, three months without fasting? Gotta tell you, it feels pretty decadent.”