Page 97 of The Wounded Warrior

“No. There’s a lot to say. At home, huh?” Rory looked serious but not pissed.

“Okay.” He could totally understand that, and he let himself smile a little. “Steaks.”

“And potatoes. I got it.” Rory squeezed his hand. “I got you.”

“I know you do, babe.” That much he got. Did he worry about Rory when people were showing up at his house with guns? Shit, yeah. But he knew Rory had his back.

“Then we’ll figure it out.”

They would. They had to. Luke was teetering on the verge of getting his shit together.

He wasn’t gonna quit now.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Rory bought steaks and potatoes, a bag of fancy salad and some Hawaiian rolls, along with a cherry pie. Luke had said he’d bake, but after Rory said his piece, who knew.

Christ, he had a headache. Maybe he should have asked Avery for a massage, too. Asshole owed him.

Luke was quiet on the drive back from the store, but he didn’t seem mad. More like he was trying to respect Rory’s space.

It was maddening.

He got Luke back in his chair, grabbed his laptop and the groceries and Luke’s crutches and got them all inside. Then he did the normal stuff—started the potatoes, fed the cats, plugged in his phone and his computer. “I’m going to change out of my work clothes.”

“You want to come have a shower with me?”

The fact that Luke asked eased something inside him, even if he thought it might be odd now.

“I do.” He stopped and met Luke’s gaze. “Thank you.”

“Hey.” Luke held out a hand, little blisters across the topof the palm from walking the bars with Avery. “I’m in for the long haul, even though we haven’t talked about it. The telling is important, I think, but it’s not gonna make me run.”

He took Luke’s hand. “It damn near broke me, and I swear to God, I will break Doug Harris until there is nothing left.”

Luke nodded slowly. “I just want you to be safe while you’re dismantling his empire. Come on. I stink.”

Rory knew Luke was more than a little in love with his bathroom. He had a huge walk-in shower with seats, with a rain shower and detachable shower heads. It fit them both in a number of delicious ways and he loved washing Luke, touching Luke all over.

This was what he needed. He stripped down after he got the water going, and it took mere moments to have steam filling the shower stall.

“Come on, honey,” Rory said. “Let’s get you in.”

Rory stripped down, put towels in the warmer and turned the lights low, leaving them in a private, quiet space. Rory easily helped Luke up and in, then down onto a bench. Luke was already so much stronger.

He sat close, closed his eyes and tried to breathe, but his chest felt so tight.

It was one thing to live day in and day out with his plan to take down Doug Harris. It was another to talk about the past. To Luke. He wanted Luke to be proud of being his lover, to admire him.

Of course, everyone had already heard about it. Everyone in town knew.

“I was… I was nineteen, between college and law school and Harris invited me over to meet some of the local guys. I wanted to be able to have contacts. Dad doesn’t work here, you know? He’s not into the good old boy network and I thought… I was nineteen and trying hard, you have to understand.”

When he opened his eyes, Luke was watching him, brown eyes dark and serious. “I get that.”

“There were five of us. Hank Lloyd, Chris Baker, Fred Miller and Harris. We had supper and had a drink. One drink. I don’t know what was in it, but I know we had supper at seven p.m. and I woke up at midnight with them all naked. Harris was slapping me with his dick and screaming names at me. There were pictures—lots of my face, none of theirs.”

“Jesus.” Luke caught his hand again, holding on. “Why?”

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