Page 39 of Part & Parcel

And it had been a hellish day.

After reading Eli’s instructions, Nick had quietly gotten up and excused himself. He’d taken a few minutes for himself, then come back to tell Kelly he wanted to do this. Heneededto do this. Kelly had said he wasn’t strong enough yet, and Nick had merely nodded and disappeared down the stairs without another peep.

The fact that he hadn’t argued, hadn’t fought for it, worried Kelly more than the fact that he wanted to do it in the first place.

He tossed his head, huffing loudly and squeezing his eyes closed. If he could just get his mind to stop whirring for a few minutes, he’d be able to find sleep. He rolled the other way, reaching carefully across the crumpled sheets to press the tips of his fingers to Nick’s back. Nick tensed with the touch, and Kelly withdrew his hand. What the hell was he doing? Just because he couldn’t sleep didn’t mean he had the right to wake Nick as well. It was rare enough for Nick to be able to sleep at all lately; he deserved it, even if it was laced with bad dreams.

Kelly was haunted by the look he’d seen in Nick’s eyes when they’d read Eli’s letter that afternoon, surrounded by all of Eli’s favorite things. It almost overrode the heartache from watching that video of Nick and a stranger, together in this bed . . . in these sheets.

Kelly rolled to his back again, giving his head a violent shake as if he could actually rid himself of the images. He’d rather think about Eli’s letters thanthat.

Kelly had expected Nick to drop everything right then and get on the phone to the other guys to tell them about Eli’s letters. But Nick had asked Kelly first. Asked him for his opinion. Hell, asked him for permission. But Nick had been through enough in the last year, and Eli was dead. He could wait until Nick was stronger.

And judging by the occasional whimper coming from Nick as he slept, he wasn’t strong enough now. He just wasn’t fucking strong enough for this.

Kelly peered at Nick through the darkness. He’d gone still and quiet since Kelly had touched him, curled on his side with his back to Kelly. No more murmurs, no more soft breaths or gasps. He was so still . . .

He wasn’t even breathing.

Kelly jerked, heart pounding as he frantically flashed back through the previous times in their lives he’d found Nick not breathing. He grasped for Nick’s shoulder, tugging him flat. “Irish?”

Nick rolled and pounced so fast that Kelly had no time to switch gears from panicking to defending himself. By the time he realized what had happened—that Nick had been playing possum—Nick had him pinned to the mattress with a knife at his throat.

“Nick,” Kelly gasped.

Nick hissed at him, shushing him. Then he said something that might have been Dari, which told KellywhereNick thought he was, if not when. He wasn’t sure, though, and all he could really hear was his blood rushing through his ears anyway.

“O’Flaherty,” Kelly tried. When he spoke, the movement of his jaw pressed his skin against the blade, drawing blood. He raised his chin, but Nick pressed harder into him. “Nick. It’s Doc.”

The faint smell of blood reached Kelly’s nose, and his body went cold. He knew what Nick could and would do to him, what they could do to each other, if this went wrong. He went still, praying that Nick would snap out of it in time, that the scent of blood wouldn’t trigger whatever Nick had been trying to bury since he’d returned from his last deployment.

Nick’s breaths were harsh against his face, his body coiled and hard and ready for battle. The blade wasn’t cool, meaning that wherever Nick had been hiding it, he’d been holding on to it long enough to warm the steel.

Slowly he began to relax against Kelly. The knife let up, leaving a burning line behind that began to trickle down the side of Kelly’s neck. Kelly didn’t dare move, though, not yet.

“Doc,” Nick gasped.

Kelly puffed a breath. It was the only sound he dared to make. He felt Nick shifting over him. A moment later, he heard the knife thump to the ground beside the bed.

“Oh God,” Nick grunted.

Kelly breathed out slowly, almost light-headed from the rush of relief.

“Are you okay?” Nick asked shakily.

“Yeah.” Kelly managed a nervous laugh. “Yeah, sure. Terrified and a little turned on. You know . . . typical Friday night.”

“I’m sorry. I thought . . . I . . .”

Nick placed a hand on Kelly’s chest, patting him like he meant to soothe him, or perhaps to assure himself that Kelly was okay. Kelly reached for him, trying to make contact in order to ground Nick until he could reach the lamp switch. His fingers grazed against Nick’s bearded cheek, and he touched him carefully.

Nick grabbed his wrist, squeezing it hard enough to make Kelly wince, and slammed it against the mattress, then straddled Kelly’s thighs.

Kelly couldn’t see him, but he could sure as hell feel him. He tensed again, preparing to defend himself, violently if he needed to. He’d never seen Nick snap out of it and then fall back in like this. His free hand fumbled for the bedside table, for the light switch or something—anything—heavy enough to do damage. He didn’t want to hurt Nick, but he didn’t want to fucking die, either.

Then Nick pressed him into the mattress and kissed him, forcing his knee between Kelly’s splayed legs, rolling his hips to rub his hardening cock against Kelly’s as he bit and sucked at Kelly’s lip. It only took Kelly a few seconds to catch up, and when he did, he wrapped his arms around Nick, returning the fervent kisses with just as much hunger.

“Kisses are so much better than knives,” he murmured into Nick’s mouth. “Just . . . so you know.”

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