Free Shooting Star by Carol Lynne Page B

three days hiding, Brac left the bedroom and stomped down the steps. He entered the kitchen and found a grinning Priest at the table.
    “I was hoping you’d join me for dinner.” Priest stood and retrieved a platter of grilled chicken and roasted vegetables from the warming oven. “Have a seat. Unless, of course, you’d rather take your plate upstairs.”
    “This is fine,” Brac growled, pulling out a chair.
    Priest set two glasses and a pitcher of ice water on the table before joining Brac at the table. He filled his plate and poured his water before saying anything further. “Tell me what you see in Jessup?”
    “Evidently a hell of a lot more than you do ,” Brac grumbled.
    “Such as?”
    “He pretends to be grumpy, but I think he uses that as a shield to keep people away. However, if you catch him first thing in the morning, when his face is still plastered with sheet wrinkles, he’s extremely kind. It’s like the mask he usually wears hasn’t had time to slip into place. It’s those moments I look forward to each day.”
    “Is there more?”
    “Sure. If you walk in on him reading the cartoon section of the newspaper you’re more than likely going to catch him smiling. That is, of course, until he catches you watching him.” Brac popped a roasted potato slice into his mouth. He’d have moaned at the taste if he hadn’t been trying so hard to show Priest no reaction to the prepared food.
    “And…?” Priest prompted.
    “Do you seriously need me to list everything there is to love about the man?”
    “It’s your list, not mine,” Priest reminded him.
    “He stayed out here to watch over me even though his job should’ve ended when the photographers and reporters gave up and left town.” He speared a carrot with his fork. “As a matter-of-fact, he took time off work those last couple of days. He didn’t have to do that. He did it because he was worried about me.”
    “No, he did it because he wanted to fuck you and was trying to move past his demons enough to pounce,” Priest ground out between clenched jaws.
    For the first time since they’d met, Brac detected a hint of jealousy in Priest’s voice. “And you don’t like the idea of him fucking me, is that it?”
    Priest relaxed his expression and shrugged. “I don’t appreciate that a spoiled brat from California can make him hard when I couldn’t.” Priest dropped his fork onto his plate. “There, are you satisfied?”
    Brac sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. “First of all, I’m from Iowa, not California. And secondly, why do you care so much who he gets hard for if you’re not in love with him?”
    “Because I’ve always been the one to take care of satisfying him. Did you know that before he went to Syria he used to beg me to fuck him? Or that he refuses to sleep with anyone because he cries in his sleep?”
    Brac swallowed around the lump in his throat and shook his head. “He cried in his sleep before he went to prison?” Several times Brac thought he’d heard whimpering noises coming from Jessup’s room at night, but he’d assumed the man was reliving the torture he’d suffered.
    “He might tell you he has nightmares, but it’s the crying that embarrasses him. The only way I know about them is because we’ve shared some close quarters while on assignment. He’s never once voluntarily spent the night with me though.”
    “What makes him so sad?” Brac’s heart broke at the thought.
    Priest took several bites of his chicken without answering Brac’s question.
    “Are you afraid you’ll betray his trust if you tell me?” Brac asked.
    “No,” Priest finally answered. “I know he was found in a cardboard box in a dumpster outside a fire station when he was only a few hours old, but that’s all he’s ever told me.” He glanced up from his plate. “It doesn’t pay to broadcast your weaknesses in our line of work.” Priest returned his attention back to his plate. “Whether it’s that or