“Fine. Just show me.” Sloane told himself he was an idiot for wanting to smile at the endearment. No one had ever called him anything resembling a pet name. It sounded sweet coming from Dex. Natural. Hell, if he weren’t so pissed off with Dex right now, he would be smiling. When he carefully lifted the hem of Dex’s shirt to reveal blotches of nasty looking purplish-pink bruises, he cursed under his breath. “Jesus, Dex.”
Sloane’s fierce urge to protect Dex was battling it out with his growing desire to strangle him. With deliberate care, he brushed his fingers down Dex’s ribs, watching his partner wince. The appropriate swear words eluded him, and as much as he wanted to growl and yell, he ended up talking quietly. “You promised me.”
“I know,” Dex said, looking like he was about to shatter. What the hell had his partner been putting himself through? Sloane didn’t have the heart to be angry at him. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he’d be angry. Properly fucked-off angry.
“What happened?”
“Can we not talk about it?”
“Dex—”
Dex gave him a small smile. “It looks worse than it is.”
“Have you taken ibuprofen?”
“Not yet.”
“Come on.” He grabbed his crutch and allowed Dex to help him to his feet. They walked around the couch, and Sloane motioned to the kitchen. “Grab the icepack from the freezer.” He waited for Dex to grab the icepack before his partner helped him up the stairs. As soon as they were in the bedroom, Sloane nodded toward the bathroom. “Hot shower. Make it quick.”
Dex didn’t argue, and while his partner showered, Sloane turned down the bed. He switched on the lamp and turned off the bedroom light, leaving only the warm glow of the lamp. Placing his crutch by the nightstand, he sat on the edge of the bed and waited, wondering how best to approach this situation. They couldn’t continue the way they were, and it had gone on far longer than it should have. Each day with Dex was an adventure, and Sloane loved it, but sometimes he wished the two of them could have a little normalcy like any other couple. Was it too much to ask to have some peace and quiet, without the world going to hell, bombs exploding, bullets flying, or his partner running around looking to punish all the wrongdoers?
Sloane wasn’t about to simply dismiss Dex’s fixation with this case. There was obviously something under the surface, something driving his partner other than a need for justice. Dex was smart. Too smart to be risking everything he’d worked so damn hard for when there were other agents capable of handling the case.
The door to the bathroom opened, and Dex walked out in only his pale blue-and-white striped pajama bottoms. He was a yawn away from falling asleep standing up. Sloane patted the bed next to him.
“Lie down.”
“Sounds like the beginning of a porno,” Dex said as he climbed onto his side of the bed. He let out a fierce yawn and ruffled his hair.
“Zip it, wise guy. I’m still mad at you.” Sloane picked up the icepack and settled in next to Dex facing him. Gently, he placed the ice pack to Dex’s ribs. His partner winced but remained still. “Did you take the ibuprofen?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t,” Sloane warned.
“What?”
“That ‘I’m too cute, you can’t stay mad at me’ face.” Sloane was going to find a way to be immune to that face. He might need to ask Ash for some pointers.
“I have one of those? Why didn’t you tell me?” Dex teased, though he yawned in the middle of it, so half of it was garbled.
“Close your eyes.” Sloane knew as soon as Dex closed his eyes he’d be asleep. A few seconds later, and his partner was out. Or at least he thought so when he heard Dex’s sleepy voice.
“They never caught them you know.”
“Who?” What on earth was his partner talking about? Was he talking in his sleep?
“The men who killed my parents.”
“Oh, Dex….” Sloane placed a kiss to Dex’s brow. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” He hadn’t been aware. It was something Dex rarely talked about. Sloane understood grief all too well, so he never pushed the matter. When and if Dex wanted to discuss it with him, Sloane would be there to listen. Dex mumbled something else under his breath before falling asleep, and Sloane wondered if his parents’ deaths had something to do with Dex’s obsession of catching Hogan. If it was, Sloane had to put a stop to it now, or Dex would continue to spiral down the darkened path.
Dex’s lips were slightly parted as he slept like the dead. His partner was generally a heavy sleeper, but this was pure exhaustion. With Dex asleep before him, Sloane could take a good look at his partner. Besides the nasty bruising over his ribs, he was covered in various tiny nicks and scratches. There were a few smaller bruises on his arms, and heavy bags under his eyes. Sloane couldn’t let this continue.
The room was warm from the heating he’d turned on earlier in the evening. Soon it would be Thanksgiving, then Christmas. Fanciful images of him with Dex and his family at Christmas entered his thoughts. He’d joined them for dinner last year and had a great time. It had been the first time he’d had a Christmas where he’d felt… at home. This year it would be slightly different. Cael knew about them, and Sloane had to wonder how much Maddock knew. His sergeant was too sharp, too world worn to be oblivious to what was going on in his sons’ lives. Well, he’d worry about it later. Right now he had to work out how to deal with the man lying beside him. A man Sloane was daring to hope would always be at his side.
Chapter 9
SLOANE SAT on the couch, brooding. His gaze followed Dex around the room as he looked for his messenger bag. The one Sloane had stuffed under the couch cushion next to him. They’d had a great morning. After waking up in each other’s arms, they’d made love before their stomachs demanded nourishment. Dex made Sloane his favorite—eggs benedict and pancakes. Sloane had even gone as far as to ask for the heart-shaped ones again. For a moment he thought maybe Dex had given up this madness. Sometime between his going to sleep and now, Dex’s resolve to find Hogan seemed to have strengthened.