When Snow made more noises, Jude realized the sounds had nothing to do with sex. They sounded more like cries of pain. Alarm pierced his heart. Frowning, he scooted forward so he’d have room to roll over.
As he did, Snow yelled, “No!” The bellow—a sound of heart-wrenching anguish—came with a kick, Snow’s foot connecting with Jude’s shin under the covers.
“Snow!” Jude winced and sat up in bed. He clicked on the low lamp they kept by the bed, then leaned over Snow, placing his hands on his hot, smooth chest. The surgeon’s heart beat like a jackhammer under his skin as he moaned again. “Hey, wake up.” Jude pressed his mouth to Snow’s jaw, rubbing his lips back and forth over the slight whiskers that had grown during the night, and wrapping his arms tight around him.
Snow jerked to the side, blinking at him in confusion and the anguish fogging those bright blue eyes ripped into Jude. He’d fucked that look out of them earlier that night after he and Snow had fetched a drunken Rowe from a bar fight and taken him home. Rowe’s muffled sobs in the back of the car had sliced through Jude. Rowe hadn’t let Snow stay the night at his new house and Jude had to practically drag Snow home after he’d sat in his friend’s driveway for nearly an hour.
His general acted hard and cold, but inside beat a heart as vast as the ocean. His grief for Rowe’s wife hit him at odd times, but his worry over Rowe was constant. Rowe didn’t often go out and get drunk; he mostly kept to himself, but the few times he had gone out on his own, he’d ended up having conversations with his fists.
And Snow would fetch him, then come home to have nightmares.
“Why do my toes hurt?” Sleep roughened Snow’s voice. He pulled completely out of Jude’s arms.
“Because you kick like a mule. I’ll have a nice, colorful prize on my shin tomorrow.” He reached across Snow’s chest, curled his fingers around his ribs and tried to tug him close again. “Want to talk about it?”
“No.” Snow resisted the pull, instead turning away and scrambling out from under the covers. He stalked naked into the master bathroom and slammed the door shut.
Jude grunted, somewhat used to the mercurial moods that ruled his lover. Most of the time, they turned him the fuck on. But not tonight. Damn. He rubbed his hands over his face. Those noises had come from a deep, hidden part of Snow, one that tormented him when he was asleep and most vulnerable, and Jude hated that Snow felt he should hide this part of himself from Jude. He’d seen the humiliation Snow had tried to hide by walking away.
The knot that twisted in his gut made him nauseous.
He listened to the shower running and when it shut off, he expected Snow to come back. When he didn’t, Jude threw off the covers, stood, and walked to the door. No sounds trickled through the wood so he knew Snow was just staying in there to cool off. He opened the door to find Snow with his hands braced on the counter in front of the sink, his profile a long, leanly muscled thing of beauty. Steam filled the room, blurring his vision and moistening his skin.
Snow turned his head to look at him. Water dripped from his hair down his shoulder and arm. It beaded on his skin. He hadn’t even dried off. Two eyebrows that didn’t match the silver-streaked hair on his head went up, ice-blue eyes narrowing as he straightened.
“Why are you hiding from me?” Jude asked as he braced a hand on the doorjamb on either side of him. He didn’t miss the way Snow’s gaze ran down his naked body. Nor the way the doctor’s body began to respond, his dick rising, despite the anger building in his expression.
“Stubborn as fuck as always, Torres. I’m not hiding.”
“Tricky, using my name like that when you know what that does to me. So don’t try to Torres yourself onto my dick to change the subject, General.”
Snow snatched a towel off the rack and started drying his body. “Think I’d rather have a Torres on my dick this time.”
“Fine.” Jude let go of the doorjamb and stepped closer. “But first, we’re going to talk. You had one of those nightmares you told me about.”
Snow’s jaw flexed as he gritted his teeth. “I don’t want to talk about the fucking nightmares. They’re old news.” He swiped the towel back and forth over his hair before chucking it into the dirty clothes hamper. His thick, two-toned hair stood up in tufts all over his head.
“Are they? Because you just had one and this isn’t the only time I’ve heard you shouting in your sleep.” He sighed, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his worry for Snow. “Look, this thing with Rowe, with your grief for him and for his wife—maybe you should talk about it. If not to me, someone else then. It’s hard to see you hurting this much.”