Marc drove home through rush hour, late as always, but night shifts were like that, even when no one died and the day team arrived right on time. Paperwork was a bitch, and he could’ve done without sitting in traffic. His brain was wide-awake, but his body was tired and achy—particularly the parts of it that were no longer there. Irony was a bitch too.

At a green light, Marc drove off, grimacing as a bolt of phantom pain lanced his imaginary leg. It was excruciating, but paled in comparison to when it had set in the previous day—ten minutes after Jamie had finally left the house.

The possibility of the two happenings being connected had tickled his mind all night long. The notion was ridiculous, but Marc turned it over and over just the same. Not that he’d come to any sensible conclusions, and he drove into Matlock Bath certain of only one thing: he couldn’t wait to get home to Jamie.

Marc pulled up at the house with a contradictory lightness he couldn’t describe. The breakfast Jamie had promised called his name, but before that, he needed to hold Jamie in his arms. The twenty-four hours they’d spent in bed together was etched on Marc’s soul, but the cold reality of a painful day alone and then a long night at work had made that blissful time seem like another life. Marc had never been with someone so consuming, and he needed to know it was real.

He wrestled with the front door and kicked it open. The scent of chilli and garlic that typically greeted him whatever time he came home was noticeably absent, but Marc traced his usual route to the kitchen anyway. It was Jamie’s favourite room in the house, and he always holed up there when he’d had enough of the draughty rooms upstairs—pottering at the stove, or sitting at the table making lists of every piece of junk he’d come across that day.

He was never on the couch.

He was never asleep.

Frowning, Marc dropped his bag in the doorway and crossed the kitchen in two strides. He crouched by Jamie’s side, reaching to shake him, but Jamie jumped awake before Marc touched him, his eyes too sharp for someone who’d just woken up.

“Shit.” Jamie’s hand flew to his chest, and for a horrifying moment looked like he might throw up on Marc’s feet. “What are you doing creeping up on me like a serial killer? You scared the crap out of me.”

Is he kidding me? But there was no way Marc was about to admit that seeing Jamie asleep had provoked a wave of panic that he couldn’t explain. He helped Jamie sit up and noted his clammy palms. “You’re sweating. What’s up? Bad dream?”

“Actually, yeah. Weird, huh? I’m sure it wasn’t long ago that I told you I never had them.”

“You told me you didn’t sleep much either, but it’s pretty much all I’ve seen you do these last few days.”

“Easily fixed, mate.”

Jamie’s smirk broke the tension, for Marc, at least. Jamie still seemed shaken, though. Marc squeezed his hands. “What were you dreaming about?”

“I don’t know, but that’s a good thing, isn’t it? My mum told me the dreams that you can remember come true.”

“What else did your mum tell you?”

“That God would punish me for liking dick. I don’t think she’d counted on me doing that all by myself. Ugh. I don’t want to talk about my mother.” Jamie reclaimed one of his hands to scrub over his face. “I didn’t even mean to fall asleep. Are you hungry? I promised you breakfast.”

“I can do it.” Marc started to stand. His knees wobbled and needles danced behind the shinbone that was no longer there. He’d become a master at disguising his pain, but Jamie apparently saw something in Marc’s face that gave him away.

He curled his hand around Marc’s scarred thigh, the light pressure just enough to turn the throbbing in his leg into something else entirely. “Go grab a shower, then get in bed. I’ll bring you breakfast, okay?”

Marc wasn’t a fan of eating in bed, but then, he hadn’t been a fan of his bed at all until Jamie had graced it with his addictive presence. “You’re staying, right? Knackered as I am, I think I’d chase you down the road if you tried to leave.”

Jamie smiled shyly. “I’m not going anywhere, for as long as you want me here.”

That was good enough for Marc, though he was finding it increasingly difficult to envisage a moment when he’d ask Jamie to go.

He left Jamie to whatever magic he was planning in the kitchen and took the quickest shower known to man, before retreating to the bedroom and ditching his prosthesis. His stump pulsed as the pressure on it ebbed away, but the phantom pain remained. Marc growled and considered hurling his prosthesis at the wall, like it would help. Only the slim chance of getting a replacement as awesome as the one Glenn had swung for him reined his frustration in.

With a heavy sigh, he sank onto the end of the bed. Despite his renegade leg, he’d had a different vision of how this morning would play out. Finding Jamie asleep in the kitchen had derailed his mental equilibrium, and now all he wanted was to curl around Jamie and go to sleep himself.

Fat chance. Marc rubbed his leg and grimaced, but there was light at the end of his pessimistic tunnel. Staying awake meant longer with Jamie, and there was nothing bad about that.

Like magic, Jamie appeared and set a mug of coffee on the bedside table. “Why aren’t you in bed?”

“Because you’re not. Don’t fancy it without you.”

“You’re sweet,” Jamie said drolly. “Let me just finish up in the kitchen and I’m here, okay?”

It was beyond okay. Jamie gone, Marc heaved himself up the bed and under the covers. Out of sight, his lower body hurt less, but he was cynical enough to suspect it wouldn’t last. He tried to focus on the pleasant buzz that came from the knowledge that Jamie was bustling around the kitchen, carried through the house to him by the scent of grilling bacon. Hunger tickled his empty stomach, and yearning warmed his veins. Hurry back, Jamie. I need you.

A few minutes later, Jamie reappeared with loaded bacon sandwiches, piled high with bacon, tomatoes, and avocado.

“That looks suspiciously healthy.”

Jamie grinned. “You shouldn’t complain about that in your job. And trust me, they’re fucking good.”

“Oh, I believe you. You haven’t fed me anything that’s not cracking yet.” Marc claimed his plate. “Just hadn’t figured you for an avocado guy.”

“Because I haven’t put it in a noodle bowl?”

Marc chuckled. “Probably.”

They ate quickly and quietly. Marc finished first and set his plate aside, sipping his coffee as he ogled Jamie, who disappointingly had left his underwear on when he’d crawled into bed.

“You seem preoccupied,” he observed when Jamie was done. “Something on your mind?”

“A little bit.”

Concern threatened the low hum of contentment Jamie had cast over Marc’s soul. “Is it addiction related?”

“Not in the way you’re thinking.”

“How do you know what I’m thinking?”

“I don’t, but you saw your bag hanging on the kitchen door, didn’t you? So you know I found your tramadol.”

“What?”

Jamie tapped his fingers together. “I found three boxes of tramadol in a bag in a room upstairs. I wrote how many there are on each box and put the bag in the kitchen.”

He spoke as if he’d taken inventory of an office stationary cupboard and his face gave nothing away, but Marc had known him long enough by now to know that jittery hands were Jamie’s red flag.

Marc put his mug down and held his own hands out. “Tell me what happened?”

“Not much, really. I stared at them for a few hours, then I brought them downstairs and stared at them some more. Then I called my mate Billy, who told me to chuck them down the bog, but I didn’t do that because I figured that you probably need them.”

It had been a while since Marc had succumbed to heavy narcotics, but he couldn’t deny that there were times when they were all that could touch a pain that wasn’t even fucking real. Guilt turned his heart-healthy breakfast to dust in his stomach. How on earth had he forgotten about the hospital bag he’d stashed upstairs? “I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t.” Jamie’s fingertips brushed Marc’s lips. “My addiction isn’t your problem. I’ve got to learn to deal with shit like this, or I’m fucked anyway.”

“So did you? Deal with it, I mean?”

Jamie shrugged. “I didn’t bang a box of tramadol, so I guess so.”

“Did you want to?”

“A bit, but it didn’t seem worth it.”

Relief washed over Marc. “That’s good. I’m glad you see it like that.”

Jamie laughed humourlessly. “Don’t get too excited. When I say it’s not worth it, I mean the hit, not the fallout. I’ve done trammies before, and they don’t touch the sides. If I’m going to slip, it’ll be for a better high than that.”

Well, damn. Just when Marc thought he had Jamie’s way of thinking down. Idiot. “So why did you call your friend if you weren’t that tempted? Why not put them back and forget about them?”

“I wanted to hide it, but I’m trying to stop doing that. Trouble is, I don’t trust how I feel, or the decisions I make, so I called Billy. I wish I hadn’t, though. Then I could’ve put the bag back and you wouldn’t be looking at me like I’m an unexploded bomb.”

“Am I?” Was he? Marc shook his head slightly to clear it. “Sorry.”

“What the hell for?”

Marc sighed. “I don’t know at this point, mate. I’m so fucking tired.”

“I know.”

Jamie’s unspoken apology hit Marc in the gut, and it was his turn to trace his fingers over Jamie’s lips. “Let’s drop the blame shit, okay? There’s no end to it if we let it take over.”

“If you say so.”

“I do, and you know I’m right. You feel like a burden for bringing this to the table, and I feel like a failure for not being able to fix it.”

“You can’t fix everyone.”

“I don’t want to fix you. I want you to feel better on your own.”

“You might be waiting a while.” Jamie tilted his head so his face was cupped in Marc’s palm. “Sometimes it seems like I’ll be on the verge of an apocalypse for the rest of my life.”

“If that was true, you’d have done something with that tramadol.”

“Nah, I’d have gone down that pub by the lime quarry and scored a bag, and the fact that I didn’t is the only reason I’m still here. You know I wouldn’t be in your life if I was using, don’t you? You’ll know if I fuck up, ’cause you won’t see me for dust.”

Because he doesn’t want to hurt anyone else. All that Jamie had spoken of his friend and one-time lover Zac echoed in Marc’s head, but he pushed it away. Didn’t Jamie understand that they’d fallen too far to hide from each other’s pain? “I keep the tramadol in the house to help me sleep when my invisible leg drives me crazy.”

“Say what?”

“Phantom limb pain. I told you it fucks with my head. I don’t use the meds much, though. It might not touch the sides for you, but it makes me spin until I puke. I hate it.”

Jamie hung his head. “And I’m jealous of that. I miss being high . . . For so long, it was all I had, and I loved it. I mean, really fucking loved it. When I realised I had to stop, it was like my brother died.”

“Do you have a brother?”

“Yeah, and I don’t love him at all.” Jamie smirked, but it was thin, and laced with defeat.

Fuck this. Marc pulled him close and wrapped him up in the embrace he’d longed to smother him with since the turbulent flight that had thrown them together. “I’m sorry I left the bag upstairs, but I’m glad you found it. It means a lot to me that you’ve told me everything you have. I know I’m not so great at reciprocating.”

“That’s because you’re addicted to listening.” Jamie sniggered at his own joke, his face mashed against Marc’s chest, his laughter seeping into Marc’s tired bones, until he looked up, his eyes bright and clear. “But you share more than you think.”

Marc could believe that. Ten years ago, he’d possessed a stoic mask that his closest friends struggled to see past. Now it seemed that every fucker he crossed paths with saw his weakness. “Are you going to stay here to sleep?”

Jamie snorted. “Nice deflection. And yes, I’m not going anywhere. I don’t know if I’ll sleep, cause my head’s a bit—” Jamie twirled his finger at his temple. “I’m not twitching, but I need to do something mega to turn it all off.”

It was moments like these that reminded Marc that the fourteen years between them might as well be fifty. He’d worked with young guys in the field, but Jamie was from another war, and Marc had no idea what he’d just said, even if he understood the sentiment. “Tell you what,” he said. “I’m feeling like I need to get out of dodge for a while too. Give me a couple of hours kip, and then I’ve got a day or so to burn and somewhere I haven’t been for a while. Come with me?”

He expected questions, but Jamie merely nodded and slid down the bed until he was lying on his back, his head slightly propped up on the pillows. Jamie opened his arms and gestured for Marc to rest his head on his chest, scowling when he apparently read Marc’s hesitation for what it was—a fear of the unknown. Marc didn’t lie with people like that . . . man, woman, brother, lover, they lay with him on his terms.

But this was Jamie, and Marc had already learned that his heart would betray any dignity that he had left. He was in Jamie’s arms before he truly knew what he was doing, eyes closed and lost to Jamie’s gentle fingers carding through his hair.

He was pretty much asleep when he realised that Jamie hadn’t told him what had been on his mind in the first place.