August could be a bitch of a month in Boston. Tourists thought of Massachusetts as the land of apple cider and snowfall, but Cam had lived there his whole life and knew very well that walking down the street could feel more like swimming when the epic humidity of summer hit, which was why he was kicking his own ass as he ran down the block toward the Union Park brownstone his brother called home.

The good news was, he’d sweat out the last remaining drops of the alcohol he’d consumed the night before at some point along the four-mile run from his place in Cambridge. The bad news was, without the lingering, memory-dampening effects of a hangover to distract him, he felt like an even bigger idiot about the events of the previous evening.

He leaned against the short, wrought-iron gate in front of Bas’s building and panted, sucking down the last few drops of water from the bottle he’d carried.

Not that he blamed his behavior yesterday on alcohol entirely. Yeah, maybe at first the alcohol helped to make him a little less awkward, a little more accepting, but everything after that had been totally him, from the hot-as-hell control thing to the total fizzle-out at the end.

The gate squeaked as he pushed it open and walked up the path.

God, but the control thing had worked for him in a major way. He’d known people who really got off on that kink, who worked the dynamic 24/7, yet while he’d always been sorta you-do-you about the whole thing, he’d never truly understood the appeal. But for him last night, it hadn’t been about the nurturing and constant focus his friends loved so much, it had been one hundred percent about the power exchange, about giving control over to someone he trusted. Cam couldn’t remember anything as good, ever.

It had been glorious, but scary, too, because it was the kind of thing he could quickly become addicted to. Cam got the feeling Cort didn’t do permanent, and Cam wasn’t exactly free of baggage. Case in point, one messed-up, reclusive brother who was apparently hacking the government.

He removed Bas’s key from the zippered pocket of his shorts and contemplated the heavy wooden door. He could knock and give Bas enough time to pretend to be sleeping or showering, or he could walk straight in and see how Bas was really doing. Weighing the key in his palm, thinking of his conversation with Drew last night and the unreturned calls this morning, he knew he’d choose option B. He needed to see how bad Bas really was. So, he unlocked the door, taking care to make enough noise that Bas could dive for cover if he was naked or whatever.

He needn’t have worried.

The air inside the apartment was blessedly cool - almost too cold against Cam’s damp skin, and though the sun was raising rippling heat waves from the pavement outside, inside it was dark as a tomb. Sitting on the red sofa, not bothering to stand or even turn his head - and Jesus, I could be an ax-murderer for God’s sake - was his brother. Cam’s eyes popped open in surprise at the sight.

Bas hadn’t been right since the crash - losing Amy, losing their parents, it had sent him into a tailspin. During the first couple of months, Cam had thought maybe things would be okay. And then the stupid NTSB report had come out, giving Bas somewhere to focus his attention, and any gains he had made vanished in an instant.

But he hadn’t been this bad.

Sebastian was wearing a pair of baggy, gray cutoff sweatpants and a sleeveless white t-shirt which hung from his thinning frame, both of which looked far too broken-in and wrinkled to be clean. His thick brown hair, usually carefully styled back from his face, flopped in greasy, lifeless waves above tired blue eyes. His normally tanned skin seemed four shades too pale, and he stared at the flat-screen television on the wall as if it was somehow speaking messages directly into his brain.

Cam felt a hum of unease at the base of his skull.

The screen was paused on a television interview which had taken place shortly after the crash. A witness had come forward who’d been drinking with the pilot responsible for the accident, a redheaded man maybe around Cort’s age. No doubt he’d been seeking his fifteen minutes of fame, and had done a tell-all interview with some bottom-feeder of a tabloid show. It had been short on details and long on speculation, just enough to fire up imaginations and send the media - and Sebastian - out sniffing for blood.

“What are you doing?” Cam asked.

Bas turned his head slowly, reluctantly, fighting the magnetic force of the on-screen images. He looked confused to see Cam there, but then his expression cleared and he became animated.

“Oh, Cam! Just the person I needed. Look at this man! Who does he look like?”

Cam blinked. “I dunno? The guy from Grey’s Anatomy?”

The glance Bas turned on him was wild-eyed and impatient. “No, someone we know. Someone we’ve met before.”

“Nobody I know,” Cam said, giving the television another passing glance. “Bas, we need to talk. This shit you’ve been pulling has to stop.”

Bas shook his head. “This is the key, Cam. The key!” He grabbed the remote from the coffee table and flipped to a different stored video, this one of Cam’s college graduation. He pushed Play.

“I know I’ve seen this guy somewhere.”

“The guy in the interview? Bas, that’s hardly likely. He looks like a lot of people.” Cam was trying to be patient, but failing. Bas needed to listen to him.

Instead, his brother chose a different video. A TZT-online-news clip about their parents’ funeral. Cam sighed as the reporter recounted the tragedy with barely-concealed excitement. Even a year later, that thread of satisfaction some people enjoyed when talking about the death of an attractive, rich couple and a young, beautiful, wealthy woman drove him bonkers.

Cam grabbed the remote from Bas and paused the video, then took a seat on the edge of the sofa and forced Bas to look at him.

“Bas. Talk to me. Have you been hacking government systems in a reckless and obvious way? Is… is this a cry for help? Do you want to get caught?”

Sebastian rolled his eyes impatiently. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Cam.”

He reached for the remote again, but Cam laid a hand on his wrist. “Being serious here, Bas.”

Bas rolled his eyes again. “I know you are. You always are, Cam. Speaking plain facts without emotion. It’s what you do.” The bitterness in his tone was like a punch to Cam’s chest.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Cam demanded, but he knew. He’d talked more about his parents during the past few days than he had in the whole of the past year, but the constant comments about it were really starting to piss him off. Was he supposed to talk about his parents all the time? Parade his emotions around on his sleeve?

God.

Bas opened his mouth like he was about to say something, but thought better of it. “Get out of here, Cam. I’m busy.”

Cam stood. “Busy? Busy with what? When was the last time you came into the office?” Worry and frustration - with Bas, with Cort, with his whole screwed-up life made his voice unnaturally high-pitched. “David is working on the new release without you. Margaret is worried. Uncle Shaw is determined to step in and take over from you.”

“We don’t need his help,” Bas muttered, spearing Cam with a glare. “Absolutely not.”

Cam had been on the exact same page when Uncle Shaw had broached the idea, but now he found himself chafing. How dare Bas have an opinion about this, when he refused to have one on anything else?

“I could use the help,” he taunted his big brother instead. “You’re obsessed with finding someone to blame, obsessed with the past, but it won’t bring anybody back, Bas.”

“You think I don’t know that?” he demanded.

“Well, then why?” Cam said, throwing a hand up in the direction of the television. “Why spend your whole life communing with the dead when I am right here and I need you?”

Cam snapped his jaw shut. He couldn’t believe the words that had tumbled from his lips. All that openness with Cort last night had made him spill his guts in a way he would never have dreamed of a couple of days ago.

“Cam,” Sebastian began in a placating tone, but Cam shook his head. Enough with the emotional rollercoaster. He wanted nothing more than to run himself to the point of epic exhaustion, and sleep through until the time came on Monday when he had to get up and deal with his life.

“Never mind,” Cam told him. “Don’t do me any favors.” He turned to leave. “Just make sure you eat something, okay? You look like a skeleton.”

He glanced up just once before he left, but when he did, Sebastian’s slack-jawed attention was fully focused back on the paused television screen.