Miles groaned as he pushed himself up to a sitting position in bed. Recovery was frustrating as fuck, since his mind wanted to go way faster than his body could handle. He could be up for about an hour, two if he pushed it, but that was it. He was still spending way more time napping and resting than he wanted to.

Noah had told him this was normal, especially considering his injuries. It had taken a while for Miles to realize just how lucky he had gotten that Indy had called Noah and asked for medical advice. If he’d left him as Miles had told him to do, Miles would have died from internal bleeding. It had been a sobering realization.

Wells, his boss, had contacted him several times to check up, and his latest call had been a not so subtle reminder that his mandatory counseling would start as soon as he was fit enough. They’d send a trauma shrink to him if necessary, his boss had told him in no uncertain terms, but the sooner he’d start, the better.

He knew it was the right thing to do. A trauma like he’d survived was not to be taken lightly. They had shot both Nunez and Fisher at point blank. He still didn’t know if he’d been spared simply because they’d gotten to his room last, or because Crouch had somehow chosen him to be interrogated. He liked to think the first, because the second made him sick to his stomach.

Crouch. Now there was a depressing thought. He hadn’t even told Indy, but Wells had informed him they’d found Crouch’s body a few miles from the farm. He’d been executed with a single shot, the bullet matching the one used to kill Nunez. They’d simply shot him when he’d outlived his usefulness.

Turned out his sixteen-year-old daughter had been kidnapped the day before the raid on the farm, thus ensuring Crouch would cooperate and not alert his boss. She’d been held in an abandoned warehouse in her hometown of Rockville, Maryland, but had managed to escape, much to everyone’s relief. She had survived, but her dad hadn’t. It was an unimaginable tragedy for the family.

The FBI had caught the men who attacked the farm—but only because of the shooting in Boston. They’d made the mistake of contacting lower level lieutenants already in police custody because of the raids the Boston PD had done for days after. Their informant had delivered them a ton of solid intel on the Fitzpatrick’s organization on a silver platter, and they’d used it. There was nothing left of the empire.

The FBI was still trying to figure out who had tipped off the Fitzpatricks where Indy was held, though, and how they had known Crouch was the agent in charge. It smelled like an inside job, and that was deadly dangerous.

They were also still investigating the shooting in Boston, in cooperation with the Boston PD. They had zero leads. Zero. Sure, they’d had a ton of tips on the crime tip hotline, but none that had proven useful. Wells had reported the shooter was a fucking ghost, and he’d said it with equal amounts of admiration and exasperation. Technically, it was a job for the Boston Field Office, but since it was tied to the Fitzpatrick case and thus to the murder on that Boston DA Merrick, FBI headquarters had gotten involved.

Miles was intrigued and had asked Wells to keep him posted, even though he was off-duty while recovering. There were so many questions surrounding both the raid on the Kansas safe house and the shooting in Boston, that Miles had a hard time letting it go.

A timid knock sounded on his door, interrupting his thoughts.

“Yeah, come in,” he called out.

Charlie walked into the room with Max on his heels. “I didn’t wake you?”

Miles smiled as he pushed himself up farther, leaned back against the head board. Charlie’s face broke open in a happy smile that made Miles’ belly weak. God, Charlie was so fucking gorgeous, but hardly aware of it himself, it seemed. “Nope, I was awake already. What’s up?”

Charlie seemed to hesitate for a second, then climbed on the bed and faced Miles, pulling his legs up. “I’m bored.”

Max gave them both a long look, then decided that the floor looked appealing and plopped right down. He had to be the easiest dog Miles had ever seen, always content as long as there were people to hang out with.

“No one home?” Miles asked.

“Noah has classes, Indy is teaching a jiujitsu class, Brad won’t be home for another half hour, and Josh and Connor have a session with Master Mark, a Dom.”

Miles’ eyes widened. “They have a what?”

Charlie’s eyes gleamed. “That got your attention, huh? Apparently, they visit a local Dom regularly and he teaches them more skills, I guess? Josh said they’d do something today called shi..shibatsu?”

“Shibari,” Miles supplied. “Bondage. It’s an artful way of tying someone up with ropes.”

“Yup, that’s it. Josh was really excited about it.”

Miles cocked his head. “You okay with all of that? I mean, they’re quite the over-sharers here in this house.”

Charlie shrugged. “Sure. I mean, I don’t know half of the stuff they’re talking about, Josh and Connor I mean, but I can see how much they enjoy it, so why not?”

“It doesn’t embarrass you, this open talk about sex or hearing them go at it?”

“Nah. Well, maybe the first week or so with Noah and Indy, but after that, I got used to it. They’re so open about it that it’s hard to feel embarrassed. It’s not like some dirty little secret or something.”

Miles hummed. That made sense, actually.

“But it must be harder for you, I guess?” Charlie added.

Miles grinned at the unintentional innuendo. It took a second for Charlie to register his own pun as well, and he giggled. It was a beautiful sound that filled Miles’ heart with joy.

Miles swallowed back the joke that was on the tip of his tongue. He still didn’t know Charlie that well, and he didn’t want to hurt him, or trigger bad memories with an ill-timed quip.

Charlie’s smile dimmed. “You’re doing it again,” he said.

“Doing what?”

“Treating me like I’m breakable. You wanted to say something. I could see you hold back.”

Miles sighed. “I wanted to make a stupid joke and then thought better of it. I don’t want to hurt you, Charlie. That has nothing to do with me thinking you’re fragile or some shit and everything with not knowing you well enough to be aware of where you’re sensitive.”

Charlie’s jaw set. Miles was pretty damn sure that wasn’t supposed to make him look even more adorable, but it totally did. “I’m not sensitive,” Charlie said between clenched teeth.

“Sure, you are. We all have our trigger issues. Doesn’t mean we’re weak or fragile.”

Charlie scoffed. “Bullshit. If that’s true, then where are you sensitive?”

Miles kept his face neutral. “Holidays, for instance, especially Christmas. I can’t stand it when people complain about how busy it is, or how they don’t like their family coming over, or whatever. I would do anything to celebrate Christmas with my parents and sister one last time. They were killed in an accident years ago, and I still miss them like crazy.”

Charlie’s face fell. “Oh, god, I’m sorry. I’m a horribly selfish person at times. Brad says so, too.”

“I don’t believe that,” Miles said. “I don’t think you’re selfish. I think you’ve been dealing with so much that your brain was too occupied with coping with your own shit to have the mental capacity to invest yourself in other people’s shit. You’re not selfish. You’re a survivor. Big difference.”

Charlie’s eye grew big. “Is that how you see me? Not as weak and fragile? Everyone always does.”

“Charlie, there’s nothing weak and fragile about you, other than maybe your body in comparison with, say, Connor. You’re not delicate china. You’re like one of those tin cups that come in all kinds of colors. Really pretty, but strong as fuck. Unbreakable.”

It started with a sob that escaped Charlie’s lips. “He tried to break me.”

“I know. But he couldn’t, could he?”

A bigger sob tore through the slender body. “He beat me. Who the fuck beats someone he claims to love?”

Miles knew what was coming, had seen it enough in witnesses and crime victims. He mentally braced himself, could only hope Charlie would trust him enough to seek comfort. “I know, love.”

“He cheated on me, did Brad tell you? All the time. Who does that?”

“I know.”

One more big sob, and then he broke. Miles saw him crumble, right before his eyes. He watched as the dam burst that had held back Charlie’s emotions, witnessed as it shattered into pieces, was washed away by the avalanche of emotions.

Charlie let out a blood-curling scream, then another one, and another one, until his voice broke and it turned into sobs. Big, body-wrecking, angry sobs.

Miles held out his arms, and without a second doubt, Charlie crawled toward him, took shelter in Miles’ arms. Miles kissed his head, held him close as he broke into pieces.

The door to his room opened, and Brad came running in, coming to a sudden halt when he saw Charlie bawling his eyes out in Miles’ arms. Miles’ eyes met Brad’s, and they filled with tears. Underneath his prickly exterior, he was such a softie. And he really cared a lot for Charlie, if not more. Miles had seen him look at Charlie in a way that suggested way more than friendship, but as always, something was holding Brad back.

Miles gestured with his chin that Brad could hold Charlie from the other side. As much as Miles loved being here for Charlie right now, maybe Brad was who he really needed. Brad nodded, then climbed on the bed and took position behind Charlie. Charlie grabbed his hand and pulled it around him, but he made no indication he wanted to let go of Miles, so he kept holding him. Brad hugged him tight from behind, while Miles held him from the front, and Charlie kept crying until he hiccupped one last time, and promptly fell asleep.

After a few minutes, Brad whispered, “Thank you. He really needed that release.”

How could he be so sweet when it came to Charlie and be so defensive toward Miles? Miles didn’t understand. “I don’t mind.”

“I can move him to our room?”

Miles studied Brad, his pale cheeks and the dark circles under his eyes. “He can stay here. I don’t mind. I need to nap myself as well.”

The relief on Brad’s face was palpable. Then his eyes traveled south. “Do you need a release?”

Miles’ dick was, of course, hard. How could it not be after that whole talk about sex and then holding Charlie? There had been nothing sexual about it, but it had been so long since he’d held someone like that, that his body has responded fiercely. But to ask Brad under these circumstances, when the man was obviously tired himself and while Miles was holding a sleeping Charlie? It felt so wrong. Times like this he truly hated himself, hated his stupid body that wouldn’t cooperate.

“I don’t mind, honestly,” Brad said.

Miles sighed. “Please,” he acquiesced. “I’d really appreciate it.”

“I like sucking you off,” Brad said softly, carefully getting off the bed to make it to Miles’ side. “It’s very soothing for me, especially when I’m stressed.”

Huh. That was interesting.

No more words were spoken as Brad expertly took him in and brought him to climax in minutes. Miles’ eyes were already sinking shut when Brad was still tucking his cock back into his bottoms. “Thank you,” he managed.

“My pleasure.”

Miles felt the bed dip again. Was Brad staying? He was almost asleep when Brad spoke again. “It’s always my pleasure.”