Rob had wanted to stay in the car with the paramedic and the guy bleeding out, trying to save him, wanting to make a difference. The whole time, he hadn't even considered the kids in the car. He’d blindly switched into control mode and held the driver’s life in his hands. That was what he was trained to do. Way before he killed people for a living, he’d been a SEAL. He'd performed miracles under fire, been the hero the US needed him to be, just as he'd been right here in the middle of Montana. But he’d been ordered to leave the car, and the moment the EMT told him that, he’d rebelled. No one told him what to do. He had lives to save, and he wasn’t going anywhere.

It didn’t matter that his back was in spasm and the pain was stealing his breath, or that his vision was blurry, or even that, for a moment in the car, he couldn’t remember what to do to help the injured man.

It only hit him when he clambered out of the car, helped out by a firefighter who’d cursed him for his stupidity. Why had he done that? Why had he put a stranger first, and why the hell had he decided it was vital he stay in the damn car?

See, this is why I’m not fit to be any kind of guardian to them.

Rob was obligated to deal with an issue he should never have had to face. The children in his SUV, his nephews, had to get to a family, a real one, and not stay with their fucked-up uncle. But he couldn’t get them situated if he were dead.

He was a trained killer, and because of that, his keen sense of self-preservation didn’t extend beyond himself. Sometimes it was only that which kept him alive. Justin used to accuse him of being emotionally detached, and fucked up. What would Justin’s opinion be now if he was watching this confusion he was dealing with.

On the one hand saving the lives of strangers.

On the other looking out for his nephews.

I needed to leave them. I will always put danger and adrenaline above what is left of my family. Because that is the kind of fucked-up brain I have.

“Sir? Can I ask a few questions?”

The voice took him by surprise, and he startled, spinning on his heel to face a new threat, his hand instinctively reaching for a weapon.

He saw the flash of shock in the sheriff’s face, his instant reaction of going for his own weapon, and the relaxed stance he moved into when Rob held his hands out in front of him.

I’m not a threat to you. He hoped that was the message he was conveying. Hell, he’d been shot for a lot less than being caught by surprise and reacting badly. There was absolutely no reason why he would want to detain Rob, but already he was on the balls of his feet ready to run. Stupid.

“My bad,” he apologized.

The sheriff inclined his head but remained cautious as he held out a hand. “Sheriff Ryan Carter. Ryan.”

“Robert Brady. Rob.” They shook hands, and then the sheriff gestured that they move away from the accident, which took them closer to Rob’s car and the children inside. At least he could check on them. Why didn’t you do that before? They’re important. Damn it. Just another mark in the no-way-am-I-fit-to-be-a-dad column.

“Are you armed, Mr. Brady?"

Rob guessed the sheriff needed to ask after he'd just tried to defend himself in a knee-jerk reaction. Any cop worth their salt would have seen the gesture and read it for what it was. He needed to work on not automatically reaching for his gun whenever he was startled. He wasn't ready to die because of his stupidity. Well, not yet anyway.

“No, sir. It’s in a static lockbox in the car, and I have all the correct permits."

“Law enforcement?”

“Civilian security.” The lie was quick now and so easy, and he’d said it so often it had become the truth of what he did. The sheriff didn’t immediately ask for the permits, but Rob guessed at some point in this conversation it would come up, so he pulled everything out, carefully, and handed it all over.

The sheriff called in the details, as Rob assumed he would, then returned the papers to him.

“Can you fill in some details for me about what you witnessed?”

Now that he could do. He just had to attempt to recall everything, push past a migraine and the pain, and focus on the details.

“The semi lost control coming over the top of the hill. The car in front of me was indicating to turn onto the highway. The semi had no chance to avoid the car when it slid on gravel and came directly for the gas station.” He pressed his fingers to his temples and massaged the pressure point there.

“Are you hurt, sir?” the sheriff asked.

“No, it’s just…” he didn’t finish and instead focused on the situation. “It was a hard collision. I reversed my vehicle away from the gas pumps and the fire and then used an available ingress to reach the driver. Mom and daughter were conscious and alert, but the driver was non-responsive, neck injury, and potential internal trauma.”

“Had the car pulled onto the highway?”

“No, the car was still behind the line. The semi sideswiped, but it could have been worse.”

“Sir, do you need medical attention?”

Rob frowned. He was okay. He’d stopped rubbing his temples, and it wasn’t him that was hurt, but the sheriff was gesturing at his shirt. When Rob looked down, he saw bloodstains in patches on the front of his shirt and his right sleeve. Not only that, but his hands were itchy with it, even though he hadn’t noticed before. He wiped his hand on his jeans and shrugged.

“No, I’m not injured.”

“I need your address for our records so I can get a full statement as a primary witness.”

Years of deep-seated anonymity made Rob pause, but who cared what he was called or where he lived. He wasn’t the man he’d been before. He was just an uncle with limited time and a family to make for his nephews. He was nothing now.

“I’m between places, but I’m staying with friends at Crooked Tree Ranch from tonight. Justin Allens.”

As long as Justin doesn’t shoot me on sight.

The sheriff didn’t appear to think that was weird, merely wrote what Rob had said, and nodded. “Are you available to come to the station tomorrow?”

“Actually, I’ve been driving solid for more than a day, and the kids are exhausted. Can I call the office and make an appointment?”

Hell, he’d made himself sound like he was a responsible adult there. Go figure. It wasn’t that he was trying to avoid talking to the sheriff, but he had a purpose and talking to local law enforcement wasn’t part of the plan.

Actually the start of the plan was simply. Get to Crooked Tree. Persuade Justin not to kill him. The rest would follow.

“It’s not a problem, I’ll take a drive out to Crooked Tree in the morning." The sheriff closed his notebook. “You planning on staying long there?”

Sheriff Ryan was making conversation but Rob bit back the instinct to inquire why the hell he thought that was an okay question to ask.

Evasion was ingrained in every inch of him so no one needed to know his movements.

“I need to get the kids to the ranch.” He waved at his car, and the sheriff glanced from him to the car and back. “But we’ll be there for a while. A week minimum.” Unless I can dump and run faster than that. He was coming over as cagey, and he knew a hell of a lot better than that. Act natural.

“Hmm.” Sheriff Carter hooked his thumbs in his belt. “It’s a nice place for a vacation.”

The man was fishing. Rob could hear it in his tone.

“It’s not just a vacation. Justin is a friend, from work."

The sheriff straightened, and his narrow focus turned to something more thoughtful. He didn’t ask any further questions though, as the fire chief had appeared at his elbow. Rob backed away to the car before he was asked anything else. Usually, he’d deal with this, have a backstory, but it seemed as though telling the truth after all these years was something he couldn't handle.

He took one last look at the accident scene. The potential fire was under control, and he watched the firefighters pulling the two vehicles apart. He hoped the little family was okay.

He’d known that Bran and Toby would be out of range of the fire. Then he left them with a shouted, “Stay here,” and climbed mindlessly, fearlessly, into the burning car.

I left them.

Rob didn’t know what was worse. That he'd left them to put his life in danger? That they'd seen him do that? That he was getting back into his car with blood on his clothes? Or, maybe, that in reality the kids were sitting silently waiting for him.

Shouldn't they be irritated with him or scared of the fire or angry or excited or something? Why weren’t they showing any emotion at all? They were sitting exactly where he’d left them when the accident had happened. In fact, the only sign that they’d moved was the empty chip packet on Toby’s lap, which showed that he had at least eaten the last of the snacks from back in Helena.

“You okay?” Rob asked, twisting in his seat to check on them.

Bran side-eyed Toby and then nodded.

“Is everyone in the car okay?” Bran asked, his tone quiet.

“Yep.” He didn’t want to talk about the accident or the injuries or anything like that.

“I bet if you’d been there when mom was dying you could have saved her,” Bran pointed out. His tone was flat, and he wasn’t accusing, just stating fact. “She always said you were a hero.”

“A hero,” Toby murmured after his brother.

Rob’s chest tightened. He’d seen her medical records; there was nothing he could have done. No transplant, or donation from him would have fixed the cancer that killed her.

You could have been there to hold her hand though.

“You ready to go see the horses at the ranch?” Rob changed the subject and faced the front before either boy answered. It didn't matter what they said, because the three of them were going to Crooked Tree, and that's where the horses were.

Rob told himself that Justin would welcome him and the kids. But when he pulled up at the Crooked Tree Ranch turn, he’d gone from convinced he'd be welcome to thinking Justin would get a gun and shoot him.

Well, that would solve the issue of the alternative slow, painful death, I guess.

He parked and went to the trunk, pulled off the bloody shirt and wiped himself as best as he could, putting on a new one and smoothing the wrinkled material. The road to the ranch was long, a smooth bend ending at a parking area. He recognized the layout. After all, he’d been here before, in the dead of night with no witnesses except Justin. The parking area had more lighting now, and he drove up and under the first of the lights, closest to the exit, reversing into a space.

Just in case.

“We’re here,” he announced. Should he leave the kids in the car again? Go and find Justin himself? That way, if there were a problem, the kids wouldn’t be witnesses. That was him being a responsible father figure.

Avoid taking the kids into a situation where someone might kill me.

Very grown up.

He pulled his cell from his pocket. Maybe he should call Justin, warn him? But given the way things had been left between them, who knew what Justin would do? They’d promised to stay out of each other’s lives, and so far Rob had kept this promise.

Also, turning up with the boys had to be a good move. Justin would be less likely to turn away children; no man would be that heartless.

They’d already seen enough today and had been quiet since the accident. Or at least quiet since that whole Uncle-Rob-Is-A-Hero nonsense.

I can't keep doing shutting them down by ignoring them. But it won’t matter once they were settled at Crooked Tree. Then they would be someone else’s problem.

He clenched his fists. How fucked was he that he saw his own nephews as a problem?

Pull yourself together, Brady, stick to the plan. They’ll thank you for it when they’re older.

Decision made, he helped the two of them out of the car, and they immediately moved away from him and held hands.

“Bunny!” Toby exclaimed, and Rob pulled it out from where it had gotten stuck, handing the distinctly damp toy to his nephew.

“Don’t let the horses get it.” He wished he could’ve pulled the teasing words back when, instead of smiling, Toby winced and hunched in on himself, holding Bunny protectively.

See? You’re shit at this!

They crossed the bridge over the Blackfoot River and up to the restaurant. He didn't know where Justin was now. Would he still be with Sam? They’d seemed made for each other. Sam, a chef, all sass and independence, and Justin, so broken and alone. Everyone should have a Sam, and Rob hoped they’d made it from lust to love. Justin deserved some happiness. After all, he hadn’t had a choice working for the Unit. At least not the same choices as Rob had been given.

The restaurant was closed. The inside was in darkness, and he checked his watch. Eleven p.m. Kind of early for everyone to be in bed, but then, this was middle-of-nowhere Montana, and people likely worked on a different clock up here. He tapped on the door, but no lights came on, so he knocked again. Nothing.

"Okay kids, wait here." He stared up at the window right next to the full tree. In a few quick, but shaky motions, he swung himself up onto the first branch, and cursing at the pain in his back, he climbed up the tree, using the trunk and the wall until he could lean in through the open window. The bedroom was empty. In fact, the whole place seemed deserted. He let himself back down, stared past the restaurant and up to the rest of the houses. There were lights on. At least some evidence that people lived at Crooked Tree. Then, when he’d decided that going on up the hill was his next course of action, he heard voices, and one, in particular, he knew immediately.

In the dim lighting, he recognized Justin, holding hands with Sam and stopping to kiss him every few feet. Neither man had spotted the three of them, which worried Rob. Evidently, Justin-the-former-assassin had lost his edge.

Has Justin finally chilled out and stopped being a killing machine? Is he actually a human? Has he found a way out?

“Hey, Justin,” he announced his presence.

In the blink of an eye, Justin had Sam behind him, his knees bent, ready to take on whoever waited in the dark

That’s more like it. That’s the Justin I remember.

“It’s me." Rob held up his hands. He didn't know if Justin was armed or not, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

Justin said something to Sam, waved for him to stay, then carried on down the path toward them. Apparently, Sam didn’t take well to orders and followed him immediately.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Rob?” Justin asked, with no attempt at civility. Behind Rob, Toby sniffed, and again Justin crouched a little more at the noise.

“Watch the cursing, J. I’m visiting with my nephews, Come. Come out, guys. This is Bran, Toby.” The two of them shuffled to stand next to him, and Rob saw the moment dangerous-with-intent-to-harm-Justin changed into innocent-as-a-kitten Justin.

“What the fu—what is this?” he asked, glancing from Rob to the kids.

Time for absolute honesty with Justin, just like with the kids. No pretending. Lay it all out there. Or at least most of it.

“Justin, I didn’t know where else to go.”

“What did you do, Rob?”

“I became responsible for my nephews, overnight.”

For a long time, he and Justin stared at each other. He waited for Justin to say something, or at least indicate that he was okay with this visit from his old partner.

“You need to leave, now,” Justin raised his voice and stepped forward, the kids moving back just as fast.

“You can’t hurt him!” Bran shouted, and pushed Toby behind him.

Sam pushed past Justin, glaring at his boyfriend, and came to a stop in front of the boys, crouching down to talk to them. “No one will hurt you. I promise. My name is Sam, do you want to go inside and get some hot chocolate and cookies? Leave your uncle and Justin to talk?”

“They’re shouting,” Bran said.

Sam looked back at Justin. “They won’t shout any more,” he warned.

Bran and Toby glanced at each other, and neither seemed as if they wanted to leave Rob.

“It’s okay,” Rob murmured to them, but the boys didn’t move. They weren’t budging from his side. “You can go. Sam is a friend.”

If anything, Bran gripped his jacket tighter.

“I’ll be five minutes,” he said and unpeeled Bran’s fingers. “Don’t be silly now. You need to be grown up, go with Sam, and take care of your brother.”

Bran allowed him to move his hand and stepped away; any confusion left his expression and he pushed his shoulders back.

"Come on, Toby," he said, "I’ll look after you.”

Remorse flooded Rob. He shouldn't have said that either, not called Bran silly, or forced him to be the responsible one. Bran was too little to be carrying the weight of something like that. Bran had been asking Rob for help, and Rob had pushed Bran away, probably broken his heart or something. Which just proved he was not cut out for being a parent at all. He knew he’d fucked up but couldn’t find the words to immediately apologize, not when he had Justin to talk to.

Fuck you, Suzi, for leaving and for making me something I never thought I’d be.

“Let’s get you into the warm, kids." Sam unlocked the restaurant door. “I have all kinds of cookies.” His unspoken message was that he was giving Justin and Rob time to talk. Only when the door was locked again, with the kids and Sam inside, did Justin move. He pushed Rob up against the wall, a hand on his throat.

“Why are you here?” His lips curled in a snarl, temper flashing hot in his words.

“I told you already—”

“If you’re here to hurt us—”

“No, jeez, I’m not part of that anymore. I told you last time—”

“Shut up, Rob.”

They stared at each other, and then with a huff, Justin released him, and Rob sagged a little at the loss of his hold.

“Summarize,” Justin demanded.

Now that he could do. “Sister dead, kidney cancer, father passed away some years ago. She left two boys, and she had no way to contact me at any time. So yeah, I fucked up there. Then, God knows why, but even though I’d vanished from her life, she named me their guardian. I pulled three days surveillance, didn’t like what I saw where they were, then worked up a plan on a favor from that New York job with Governor Chilton’s son nine years ago. End result I have two children to get situated, so I need a bed for them, and obviously, for me.”

Justin observed him as he spoke. “What the hell, Rob? Are you fucking with me?”

“I swear it’s all true. We never lied to each other. Not once in all the time we worked together did we lie.”

Of course, he would be lying soon. Not about the backstory, but when it came to future intentions? Now that was going to be a huge misdirection of truth.

Justin crossed his arms over his chest. “Are you hiding? Or escaping from something? Someone?”

“No.”

“Swear to me that my family is safe.” Justin moved closer. “Swear to me that you being here won’t put them in danger.”

Rob understood the deep paranoia and fear, as it was real to him as well.

“I swear. The kids need a family; I need a friend, and, Justin, you're about the only person I’ve ever called a friend.”

Justin huffed a laugh then, a bitter laugh like chalk on a blackboard. “You must be desperate to say that shit.”

Rob followed Justin into the restaurant, and all he could think was one thing.

I was telling the truth. You are my only friend.

And how fucked up was Rob to get to thirty-one and not have one single friend in the world other than a former assassin you’d once worked with?