Hollis didn’t look at the others. The utter silence in the room made the ringing in his ears so loud, his temples began to pound.
“There’s a reason I blocked the memory. I won’t share that part.” Ian’s voice began to shake. “Though…I know why I crawl now.” He suddenly pushed Hollis away, jumped down, and bent over the trash can to vomit.
Rowe growled and Hollis turned just as he sent his fist through the drywall. Noah stood there with his eyes closed.
Hollis was pretty fucking sure he was never going to feel okay again.
Ian slumped onto the floor, his bare back slapping a cabinet door. He stared at Rowe, a wry smile pulling up one corner of his mouth. “Now we’re all bleeding.”
Rowe looked at the blood on his knuckles, but he didn’t respond.
Hollis understood why because he felt all his smiles had disappeared forever. He kept seeing a young Ian, crawling among the rubble of an old building, hurting. Terrified. Trying desperately to get away from men who…he closed his eyes. And Gratton was in the image because he’d been there when Rowe had shot the man. Hollis had seen him, heard his voice. He knew what he looked like. He could only stand there, frozen, as he fought the urge to break more glass.
“I’m going to tear the man limb from limb,” Rowe said.
Hollis narrowed his eyes. “You’ll get in fucking line.”
Rowe stared at him for a long moment then nodded as understanding filled his gaze. He nodded again.
“Wow.” Ian laughed and it was this broken, choked sound. “I know how to ruin a party, don’t I?” He stood up and got a glass down from the cabinet. “Where did we put that whiskey?”
Noah quietly handed it to him before pulling down three more glasses.
Ian poured drinks and Hollis couldn’t help but touch his back when he picked up his glass. He should have been afraid to touch him, should have been worried he’d trigger something, but he couldn’t stop himself. When Ian turned to him and mouthed Thank you, he gave in to the need ripping through him. He set his glass down, picked Ian back up, and set him on the counter. He grabbed the tweezers and met those pretty brown eyes. “Just please. Let me get the glass out of your knees.”
Ian nodded with a stroke of his hand over Hollis’s head as he bent over Ian’s legs. As carefully as possible, he pulled tiny pieces of glass from Ian’s flesh while his mind raged and raged. Ian kept caressing his hair and Hollis knew he was trying to comfort him. He should be comforting Ian, and all he could do was squint at his knees while he worked on them. He’d never felt so damn inadequate in his entire life, and he’d failed many times to find missing kids in Georgia.
But he hadn’t loved any of those missing people outside of his friend Ryan. And he had never loved Ryan like he did this man.
He paused, tweezers tight in his fingers.
He did. He really loved Ian. He’d seen the sweetness in him right away, felt a connection to him he hadn’t felt with anyone else. Ian was a strong man to have gone through what he had and be what he’d become. He ran a successful restaurant and he had the friendship of powerful men.
Knowing that he’d been raped…knowing that he’d crawled away from bigger, stronger men intent on hurting him…made Hollis see red. So he did the only thing he could. He took care of Ian’s wounds while Ian stroked his hair. And he swore to himself that if Jagger came anywhere near him, he’d cut the motherfucker down without mercy.
Noah poured them all another whiskey.
Rowe came over to Ian and touched his arm. Hollis knew his friend was looking for reassurance, too. It didn’t usually bother him—the way the men were with Ian—but he had to bite his tongue to keep from asking him to back off.
Ian’s fingers tightened in his hair as if he could read Hollis’s turmoil and again, he felt like shit. He pressed his lips to the warm skin of Ian’s thigh.
“I’m going to call Gidget,” Rowe said, voice scratchy.
“It’s two in the morning,” Ian told Rowe. “She has a child.”
Noah, who had already doctored his feet at some point—Hollis had no idea when—touched his shoulder. “Why don’t you let me finish his knees while you look at your feet. One is bleeding kind of badly.”
Surprised, Hollis looked down and saw the small puddle of blood. It was then it began to hurt. Ian’s fingers tightened in his hair again and he looked back up and locked gazes with him. “I’m okay,” Ian said. “Please take care of your foot.”
Hollis nodded, took a few supplies from the kit, and limped to a folding chair.