Page 62 of Warrior's Cross

“You look like hell,” Blake blurted without thinking. “What happened?” he demanded.

Julian returned his frank appraisal with a wry nod of his head, and then he lifted a bottle of single malt Irish whiskey and shook it enticingly.

“A Bushmills night,” Blake observed with a slight frown. “Come in, then,” he added with a sigh as he turned slightly and waved Julian into the house. “Let me go put my pants on,” he muttered as Julian stepped past him unsteadily. “How’d you get here?” he asked suspiciously as he realized Julian wasn’t exactly sober.

“Preston dropped me off,” Julian answered as he looked around the large entry foyer. “Said he’d pick me up in the morning.”

Blake barked a laugh and shook his head. “He’s just pawning you off on me,” he said accusingly as he relaxed a little. “What’s the problem then? It’s not tactical or he’d be all over it.”

“I think I’m losing him,” Julian answered softly as he turned and met Blake’s eyes.

“Preston?” Blake asked in shock. Julian and Preston had worked together for longer than Blake had known either of them—and that was no short time itself.

Julian shook his head and looked away. “Cameron,” he answered in a voice that was barely a whisper. “He’s starting to get scared. I can feel it in the way he looks at me.”

Blake stared at Julian, worried and dumbstruck. He licked his lips and moved closer to his friend, taking his elbow gently and guiding him toward the study. “I’ll put pants on later,” he mumbled as they walked through the silent house.

Julian flopped into one of the heavy leather armchairs standing beside the cold fireplace, and Blake knelt to start the gas logs as Julian began struggling to open the bottle of whiskey. Blake sat down opposite him, crossed his legs, and watched him, knowing that when Julian wanted to talk, he would. Especially since he’d already been into the bottle. The problem, in the end, would be shutting him up.

Finally, Julian handed the bottle wordlessly to Blake for him to open it, and he slumped back into his chair and stared up at the dark ceiling. “He’s asking questions I’m afraid to answer,” he started abruptly. “If I lie, I lose him. If I tell him the truth, I lose himandrisk him being hurt.”

“Jules,” Blake said softly as he carefully set the bottle of whiskey on the floor beside his chair, hoping Julian would forget it. “Can I ask you a question?”

“No,” Julian groaned with a shake of his head.

Blake ignored him. “What do you see in him?” he asked curiously.

Julian stared at Blake with wide eyes. “What the hell kind of a question is that?”

“An honest one,” Blake answered. “Don’t get me wrong. I adore Cameron. He’s a great guy. I’ve known him almost as long as I’ve known you. But he’s not exactly... your type,” he explained carefully.

“And my type is . . .”

“The type you never see again,” Blake answered wryly. “Or the type who’s likely to try to kill you afterward,” he added thoughtfully. “Of which Cameron is neither,” he clarified.

“Jesus, Blake,” Julian muttered, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

“It’s not pretty, Jules, but it’s true. Cameron’s not like us. And quite honestly, I can’t imagine how he keeps your interest. And it wouldn’t surprise me to find out he thinks the same.”

Julian sneered at that and shook his head. “I love him,” he stated angrily.

“I know you do,” Blake assured him. “But why?” he prodded.

“There’s no answer to that,” Julian protested in annoyance that was obviously heightened by the alcohol he’d already consumed. Blake actually preferred dealing with Julian when he was drunk. It was almost like dealing with a normal person, one who let his emotions show. “I don’t knowwhy,” Julian went on in frustration. “I just...” He closed his eyes and turned his head, and the fire cast shadows over his drawn face.

“When I’m with him I feel like one of the good guys,” he tried to explain.

“You’re not one of the good guys,” Blake reminded.

“Shut up,” Julian grumbled. “I just... I feel normal with him.”

“You hate feeling normal,” Blake argued. He ignored Julian’s grunt of protest and continued, leaning forward as he did so. “And how can you call what you have with him normal?” he asked in annoyance. “You see him, what, not even two days a week? Less than forty-eight hours? And you probably spend most of that screwing and sleeping. You don’t know him, not really, because you’ve not spent any real time with him. And he certainly doesn’t knowyou. It’s not a relationship when all you do is fuck him and leave.”

“Fuck you,” Julian said in a surprised voice.

“No, fuckyou, Julian,” Blake responded calmly. “What you have is nothing near a normal relationship. Take him out somewhere.”

“You know I can’t risk that,” Julian argued.

---