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“Then I want my stuff. Now!”
“Shh. Quiet, daggonit… and what stuff?” Cayson was trying to keep his voice down, but was losing patience faster than a compulsive gambler losing his rent money.
“You know what!”
Before Cayson could even think what Dr. Joe was referring too, he’d pushed hard on the door, knocking Cayson backwards. The door probably would’ve slammed into the wall from the momentum, but Quick was there to stop it. Joe didn’t even notice. He wasn’t accustomed to noticing things like that. He wasn’t a man who’d ever had to watch his back.
“Joe, what the hell? Get out of my house. I told you not to come in.”
Joe ignored him and stumbled further into the room, only glancing around before making a wobbly beeline to his closet. How the man didn’t notice the largest pair of black boots Cayson had ever seen lying next to the couch and the black t-shirt slung over the arm was beyond his understanding.
Cayson knew what was about to happen the moment he saw the front door in his peripheral vision slowly shutting to reveal Quick’s very pissed off posture. Joe’s back was to them while he dug through the closet. Cayson had no clue what he was looking for, but he pleaded with his eyes for Quick to stay calm. One look at Quick, and he knew that wasn’t about to happen.
“I can’t find it!” Joe screamed, his head still buried. “I know I left it here. I can’t find it at home, anywhere.”
“Find what, Joe?” Cayson left the front door open, Joe wasn’t staying much longer.
“My gray and white Berluti cardigan,” Joe said, his voice muffled by the coats he dug through.
“Joe, there’s nothing like that in there. I don’t remember you ever leaving anything here. You don’t even stay the night except for maybe once every couple of months.” Cayson sighed when Joe started throwing things out of the closet, burying himself deeper inside it. How ironic. “Now, for the last time – leave.”
Quick’s hand was on Cayson’s shoulders, massaging and rubbing the tension that had settled there days ago and refused to move out. It was becoming more and more painful to watch, as Joe became a huge mess. He was on the floor, digging and pulling things all over the place. Both he and Roman looked on in disbelief and sadness.
“Do you want me to get rid of him for you, Cays? Because I will. Whatever you need me to do. Just ask.” Quick stood closer now. Looking large and damn sure in charge. It gave Cayson a warm feeling deep down that Quick wanted to help him… protect him. He spoke like it’d take an army to move him, to get close enough to harm Cayson. The big bounty hunter stood so close that his groin was pressing into Cayson’s hip. Of course, their height difference put what Cayson really wanted to feel a little off target, but everyone was the same length when you laid down in bed. The coarse hairs above Quick’s lips brushed the shell of Cayson’s ear as he spoke in that soothing tone. It hadn’t failed to have a profound effect on Cayson, and he ended up loosening his robe for a little extra room.
He wanted to turn into those massive arms and let Quick make it all better. He hurt. He hurt everywhere. He was a compassionate man. He hated for people to go through pain, but self-inflicted pain was the worst to watch, because all that Joe had to do was be honest with himself. Obviously, he was waging an internal war. Maybe even wanting to have something more with Cayson, but too afraid. Too fucked up. Too steeped in his family’s traditions to start his own. Not man enough to stand up to his old man, when Joe was damn near an old man himself. Forty-two was too long to hide your sexuality. Forty-two was too long to still be controlled by your upbringing. Forty plus years of bathing in misery and dining with anguish. Cayson felt for him, he truly did – but he couldn’t let Joe hold him back from what he deserved.
“He’s still here?!”
The shouted question yanked Cayson out of his thoughts and away from the encouraging rub he was receiving. Joe had finally noticed Quick standing behind Cayson like a bodyguard, equipped with a dark death-bringer in his right hand. He felt Quick tense behind him – like he was ready to act – but he didn’t make a move. He was sure Quick knew tons of moves, but hurting Joe was not an option in Cayson’s mind. He was hoping Quick would stay cool. “I’m calling him a cab. I’ll be upstairs, but I’ll be watching.” Quick had lowered his voice, but surely not low enough that Joe didn’t hear him from only a few feet away.
