Free Melting Point by Kate Meader Page B

know you’re not supposed to be working in your condition,” Gage said, a wave of protectiveness for his man coming over him and partially dislodging the blockage in his chest.
    â€œThis why you called? To play nurse?” But the smile in Brady’s voice told Gage he was pleased at the interruption. Such a small thing, but it was everything he needed in this moment. Gage could feel his bones loosening, his blood simmering down, his lungs expanding to receive full breaths.
    A return to his unsinkable self.
    â€œJust wanted to hear how you were doing.” And right now your voice is the only thing stopping me from breaking apart into a million screams.
    â€œYou sound different. Everythin’ okay?”
    â€œPeachy keen.” He added, “Can’t wait to taste you again, Chef.”
    That earned him a husky “Gage,” and by the sound of the crew’s jeers in the background, Brady must have blushed. Or developed a visible hard-on.
    Either way, Operation Diversion: success!
    Three minutes later, Gage walked into the activity room and spotted her in her usual cozy armchair by the window. She has no power over you anymore. You are stronger than you have ever been. You are loved by awesome people.
    Tentatively he approached, ensuring he made a little noise so as not to frighten her when he landed a hand on her shoulder.
    â€œEmmaline,” he said, the name clotting in his throat like lumpy gravy. The next words emerged barely above a whisper. “Mom, it’s Gage.”
    She looked up, her face open and accepting. That smile—a funhouse version of the one he saw in the mirror every day—caught at his heart, and he immediately knew. She’d retreated into herself, those memories creeping back to the dark recesses.
    He’d missed his chance.
    â€œOh, John, you came.” She squeezed his hand. “Sit and tell me all about your day.”
    So he sat and told her, half-relieved at the death-row reprieve, not ready for the full-on truth.
    Wondering if he ever would be.
    T HE TEXT CAME IN AT 2:10 A.M. Just got off a shift at the bar. U up for a visit?
    Brady’s heart—and dick—jumped. He texted back: Sure.
    Should he wrestle a T-shirt on and cover up? Yes, Gage had seen his scars already, but there was no need to shove them in his face. On the other side was the discomfort of working a tee over his shoulder and . . . The decision was made for him when his buzzer interrupted the internal debate, sounding remarkably like here’s-yo-booty-call. Gage must have been close by when he sent that text.
    Look at me, grinnin’ like a fool.
    Gage’s blond head appeared at the top of the stairs and Brady saw the moment he clicked over to his sunny self. Like a lamp.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” Brady asked, concerned.
    Gage stopped, hands in jean pockets. “Nothing. Just wanted some company.” That voice was sexy as ever, but there was something else. An edge of weariness that sounded so strange on him. He lay a hand on Brady’s hip, covered in gray sweats, and nuzzled his neck. Didn’t kiss him, just breathed him in.
    â€œYou gonna turn down a little company?”
    Nah, I don’t want a blow job . . . said no one ever.
    So why wasn’t Brady all over this? Something about Gage’s body language was throwing him off what little game he had.
    He cupped that strong jaw with the day-old stubble and wandered fingertips to the thundering pulse at the base of his throat. “Gage. Talk to me.”
    â€œI’m fine . . . I’m just . . . I’m . . .” The smile slipped and the world tilted and Brady was pushed back against the doorframe while Gage fucked his mouth with his tongue. Such hunger. It howled through Brady’s body like a cat-five hurricane.
    A shocking question cut through the storm: was it possible that Gage actually needed him?
    In the brief time they’d