Page 63 of Constantly Cotton
“I have to be,” Jason said defensively, remembering why he’d called. “Jackson, the Schroeders are up here, and they’re leaving civilians in their wake trying to find me. We’ve got their gun connection ready to hook, but we need help bringing down the rest of the Siderov army.”
Jackson let out a low whistle. “LEO?” he asked, thinking like Jason that local law enforcement officers might come in handy right now.
“If I briefed them, their coms could give us away,” he said. “Do you have any contacts up here?”
Jackson grunted. “Maybe,” he admitted. “Or I can get some guys here up there. Would that be okay?”
Jason let out a breath. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s okay. Can you get back to me in an hour?”
“Sure, what’s in an hour?”
Jason looked over his shoulder from the living room into the kitchen and sighed. “My last meal as a free man,” he said, hating the idea of going back to work for a moment.
“It might not have to be,” Jackson said gently, and Jason wanted to smack his head against the wall.
“He deserves his own life,” he said stubbornly.
“Yeah, but maybe he wants you in it.”
“Look, Rivers, I gotta—”
“Yeah, you gotta stomp down on your emotions until they rise up, grab you by the throat, shake you around a little, and then grind you into the pavement. I’ve done that. It’s not fun. You enjoy yourself. I’m going to see if some folks can come up and maybe save your ass for you. Bye.”
“Prick,” Jason muttered as the phone went dead. It wasn’t fair; he knew it. Rivers, Cramer, and Henry had all put themselves out for him and had risked their own injuries and backlash to protect him, but he couldn’t help fuming. Really? A scrawny alley cat of a man who couldn’t avoid trouble if it came with detour signs was going to tellJasonhow to run his own personal life? It was just that the quick jab about stomping down on his emotions until they rose up and took a guy by the throat had been so damned…
True.
He sighed and pocketed his phone, putting on a smile as Cotton walked in.
“Who pissed inyourWheaties?” Cotton asked, raising his eyebrows.
Jason’s smile relaxed a smidge, became real, and he resisted the urge to put a hand on Cotton’s hip and draw him close. “Nobody,” he murmured. “I’m brooding.”
“It’s because you’re in the living room with the lights off. It’s like setting the stage. ‘Now I shall brood! Commence the brooding! The brooding is in session!’” Cotton turned a grin toward him, and Jason returned it, years dropping from him like weights, landing at his feet.
“I should either turn the lights on or go eat,” he said.
“Probably eat.” Cotton gave him a brief smile, but Jason caught the edge of sadness there too. It hit him. Cotton wasn’t stupid. He knew what the coming events could mean.
“Cotton—”
He shook his head, as if to ward off Jason’s words. “It’s okay,” he said gruffly. “I… I knew it was coming. Every minute I get in the meantime is a good one.” He flashed that brief smile again, his eyes shiny. “C’mon. Greta made me promise to gain two pounds with dinner. I think it’s some sort of challenge she set herself. I don’t want to disappoint her.”
And Jason didn’t want to push it, didn’t want to make those shiny eyes spill over, not for all the “I’m sorries” in the world.
A Flash on the Monitor
THE CABINseemed quieter after Greta and Trina had left, and Cotton wiped off the last counter and started the dishwasher. He was staring thoughtfully out the window, trying to still a heartbeat that had hummed threadily in his ears since seeing Jason in the darkened room.
It felt like such a metaphor.
Cotton would go back to his regularly scheduled life and work valiantly to get his shit together. He had roommates and friends who would help him get into junior college, and he was still getting residuals from Johnnies—not to mention the constant offer to go do off-camera work such as editing or even filming that was always on the table. He’d resisted so far. Some of that felt like a pity offer, since he’d exhibited no inclination or even talent in either area. But he knew if he needed the money, John would be there to let him help.
The point was, even if Cotton ended up bagging groceries or working reception in a gym, he would have a way, a life, a path. He was young, and while that hadn’t meant much to him in June when he’d had to walk away from porn, it meant something to him now. He hadso much timeto get his life together, and after the last couple of weeks of taking care of another human being when he was at his lowest, Cotton thought he might be up to the job of taking care of himself.
For the first time since that terrible moment in his bedroom at home—Brent yanking his dick out of Cotton’s mouth, the light flaring, his father yelling about getting his gun—Cotton thought he was going to be okay. In fact, he had therightto be okay. He could do that.
But leaving Jason, alone in a darkened room, Cotton wasn’t sure he could dothat.
