In His Sights

Chapter 5-2

Noah checked the clock—07:30 A.M. He couldn’t believe he’d slept so late. Hell, he couldn’t believe he’d slept all night. The last time he’d dozed off this soundly had probably been right after Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL training—since then and before then, he couldn’t remember being knocked out so thoroughly.

Maybe his peaceful slumber had something to do with his dream. Mason had held him down, f****d him into the mattress. Mason hadn’t let up until his body had gone rigid and he’d called out Noah’s name, shooting his hot liquid into Noah’s ass. Noah’s c**k jerked with the memory. f**k. It was awesome. It had also been dangerous. Noah needed to rid himself of those thoughts—those desires. He’d start by getting the sound of Mason calling his name in orgasmic bliss out of his head.

There was no way Mason knew Noah had heard him in the shower the night before. Except Noah now knew Mason thought he was sexy. And that led Noah to his true problem—the fact Noah thought Mason was sexy, too. And a thought like that had already cost Noah a lot. It had cost him everything. Noah’s gut clenched. He closed his eyes forcing his brain to stay away from that dark time when he’d believed he had a handle on those types of feelings.

Noah got out of bed, vowing to leave the whole name-calling behind him, and picked up the new pair of Marine sweat pants Mason left for him. He put them on and stretched. Nothing creaked or cracked—always a good sign. He opened the bedroom door and listened for Mason. But the house stayed still and silent. Noah wouldn’t be surprised if Mason took the morning to sleep in, too.

In the bathroom, Noah went about his morning routine, brushing his teeth and washing up. His reflection stared back at him, with his hair spiking in all different directions. He did a quick run of his fingers through the chaotic mess, giving his hair a somewhat styled appearance. “Perfect.”

Back in the bedroom, Noah picked up the vintage Queen T-shirt folded on the chair and pulled it on. He was prepared for whatever the day held in store for him.

He walked down the stairs quietly, still not sure if Mason was up yet. Noah decided, if Mason still slept, Noah would take a cup of coffee out back to enjoy the serenity and of course, the new trees.

The kitchen stood empty, but an echo of Mason’s voice came from the other end of the hallway. Noah padded toward the room, trying to determine if someone else besides Mason was inside with him, all the while making an effort to not eavesdrop on the conversation. He quickly realized Mason was speaking on the phone. Not wanting to interrupt, Noah padded back into the kitchen to search out the elixir of the gods, coffee.

The aroma wafted in the air once Noah walked into the kitchen, but the coffee pot rested on the counter, empty. Noah made a new pot, and while he let the coffee brew, he searched for a cup. The one he’d used the day before hung on the mug rack next to the sink. He put the cup down, added some cream, and counted the seconds as he stared at the extremely slow coffee machine.

Finally, armed with coffee, he walked over to the French doors and glanced outside. The sky was gray and rain came down. Beyond mist, but not in sheets. He changed directions to proceed to the porch to sit outside, but noticed the sounds from the other room had stopped. He would check in with Mason before going out, in case the other man had plans for them.

Noah knocked on the door twice, but Mason didn’t answer. Noah checked the knob, and the door slid open. Mason sat across the room at a desk.

“Hey, Mas. Got—”

“What the f**k?” Mason turned around in his seat and stood up. “Don’t you knock?”

Seriously? The heat in Mason’s voice told Noah he was. Forced to try and defend himself, Noah said, “I did knock. Twice. Surprised you didn’t notice.”

“Because I was busy.” Mason’s tone remained gruff.

Not sure what else to say, Noah said, “Sorry,” and backed out of the door.

Mason’s expression changed as he moved around his desk. “No. I’m sorry. My head was too wound up with what I was doing. I didn’t mean to be a s**t. You caught me off guard.” As Mason spoke, he continued to move toward Noah. Having no other alternative, Noah backed out of the room the closer Mason got. It was obvious to Noah he was, although politely, being kicked out of the office. What the f**k?

Once Mason stood outside the room, he firmly closed the door behind him.

Did he think Noah planned to peek through his files? Noah’s mood turned to s**t, and he found himself again apologizing. “I’m sorry for sneaking up on you.” Although Noah still couldn’t figure out how he was able to sneak up on Mason.

“It’s all good.” Mason’s expression, different from when he was in his office, matched his words. “Did you sleep well?”

Noah struggled to keep up with the change in Mason’s demeanor. “Yeah. A little too well. Can’t believe how late it is.”

“Guess you needed the rest.” Mason smiled.

Noah took it in, letting some of his sudden and unexplained anger seep out of him. “I guess. What are the plans for today? How about a run?”

“I’m going to pass today. Got some work I have to take care of. Should be ready to do some fishing by the time you’re back. The rain’s supposed to clear out by 12:00 P.M.”

“Oh. Okay.” Suddenly staying didn’t seem like the best idea. “If I’m in the way, I’ll take off.”

“Absolutely not. I’ve a couple things came up for work, but as I said, I’ll be ready by the time you’re back.”

“All right. Cool. I’ll run around the neighborhood.”

“No. Take the truck, and go back to the lake. At least at the park, the trees will give you some cover. Help you avoid some of the rain.” Mason got the keys from the bowl on the front table and handed them to Noah. “Hey, take a sweatshirt, too. It’s chilly out this morning.”

“Thanks.”

“You going to be able to navigate your way back to the lake?”

“Think I’ll manage.” Noah took the keys and his sneakers and ambled into the kitchen. Once he finished getting his sneakers on, he grabbed the sweatshirt Mason had offered and walked out the front door. The sky appeared darker, more threatening than when he’d looked out only moments before. But a run was good for his soul, and what he required to get his blood pumping.

He drove through the neighborhood, taking the roads slowly, not to miss any of the turnoffs. He refused to go back to the house and ask Mason for directions. A left turn, two rights. After about a mile, he turned into the park. The lot appeared deserted compared to the day before. Four spots held cars. Not too many die-hard runners around here, I guess.

He strapped his iPod on his arm and took note of the temperature gage on the truck. Only fifty with rain. After his days as a SEAL, he didn’t like being cold, or wet for that matter. But a run trumped it all. He’d wear the jacket and hood, and if the rain stopped, he’d tie it around his waist. Hoodie on and glad to go, he got out of the truck. The rain was now down to barely a drizzle, perfect if it’d stay that way. He took off in the same direction as the day before, his pace slow, warming his joints. It didn’t take long for him to get up to speed. Swathed in the solitude, the music pounded in rhythm with his heart.

He circled around the lake and passed the halfway mark. His eyes scoured the uneven surfaces covering this portion of the run. Concentrating on the task, and thinking about Mason’s earlier actions, Noah f****d up.

Something hard smacked his head, the power of the blow like a runaway freight train. Before he could register what had happened, something struck his back, propelling him forward into a tree. His hands out, he caught himself a millisecond before his head slammed into the tree’s trunk. About to push himself off, another blast attacked his legs. He crashed down as if carrying weights. His mind struggling to catch up, muscle memory kicked in and his body geared up to fight for his survival. Black spots danced in front of his eyes and adrenaline took away all of the pain. The rain pelted him in the face, taking more of his vision prisoner.

His world went silent. Then his hood was yanked off and someone pulled back his head, using his hair as a handle. His arms moved as fast as a snake on the attack. He grabbed at the figure above him, knocking him out of the way, giving Noah time to locate his footing. Once vertical, his body was on a mission—focus on the scumbag in front of him and causing him as much pain as possible. His fists flew, each blow never once missing its mark.

Noise once again penetrated Noah’s brain. Someone screamed. More than one someone, the sound far away. Voices echoed through his head, repeating the same words over and over, but Noah couldn’t make them out.

Noah’s assailant remained in his sight, fighting as well as he took. Noah didn’t hold back, his fists pummeling everything they came in contact with, saving any questions for later. His eyes pinpointed on the receiver of his pain.

The voices grew louder, their rhythm changed. Abruptly, the hands on him changed—they were different from before. The hurt disappeared, now they just pulled. Someone, or rather more than one person, struggled to drag him off the goon who’d tried to take him down. He fought them off at first. They added their cries of stop, and he did. He stopped fighting, raising his arms to protect his face in case his attacker went for a cheap shot. What happened next caused anger to rush through Noah, deadlier than what he’d experienced during the altercation.

His attacker, dressed in black, ripped loose and ran away. Noah tried to follow after him, and found he couldn’t. Multiple sets of hands grabbed onto him—forced him to keep still. All the time, the voices continued to yell at him.

Noah expected the six men surrounding him to let him go, and instead they brought him to his knees.

One of the men said, “Hold him until the police arrive.”

A woman responded, “He could have killed the guy.”

Adrenaline pumped through Noah, his heart beating in his ears. His hands fisted at his sides, reared to go all out, taking the men holding him down…but something stopped him, and he went still, taking inventory of his pain.

Noah allowed the men to restrain him. “That guy attacked me.”

The commotion around him didn’t settle until after the third time Noah repeated that he was the one who was jumped. And just as the men helped him up, the sirens shrilled in the background.

Noah took better stock of his injuries when the police arrived. A knot already formed on his head. The ache from matching bruises on his back and legs, where the tree branch—which he’d spotted on the ground near where the action was—crashed into him during the fight, pulsed through him.

He didn’t have to go to the hospital. He didn’t want to. But unfortunately, the police were barely giving him a choice. The police had told Noah they’d be able to work out what happened, but they refused to do so in the middle of the woods while it rained.

One of the officers stood with Noah as the other spoke to witnesses. “Without identification—”

“I left my ID at my friend’s house.” His license sat on the night table in the guestroom at Mason’s house. And even though Noah’s phone was in the truck, he’d never gotten Mason’s phone number, which of course was unlisted.

The police officer continued as if Noah hadn’t spoken. “—your choices are to go down to the station, hang around in lock up until we figure out who you are. Or take a ride to the hospital, and while you’re checked out, we’ll figure out who you are and what happened.”

Noah chose the hospital. He didn’t want to sit in a jail cell in soaking wet clothes waiting for whomever, however long it took. At least at the hospital he’d receive a set of dry scrubs to wear.

The paramedics moved him into the ambulance without a police escort. Noah figured the men in blue believed him, but still weren’t going to let him walk away. Maybe they assumed if he’d been hurt, and not provided care, Noah would come after the city. Not likely. But they didn’t know that.

Noah’s head pounded, and he barely closed his eyes before someone’s hands were on him. It was one of the paramedics. Even though the adrenaline slowed, Noah needed to continuously remind himself the men weren’t there to cause pain, because right then Noah’s brain, and body, were having a hard time getting over their need to protect. With a quick nap, the urges could be swept away, taking with it all of his soreness.

Unfortunately, that was just a fantasy—he could forget the serenity the sleep would offer. After the knock to his head, there’d be no sleep in his near future. And the pain. Yeah. With the adrenaline letdown, the hurt just started. f**k.

He entered the hospital, and the smell of disinfectant and blinding white lights immediately accosted him. All his senses hurt. The EMT, ignoring him, rolled him into a curtained room. One of the nurses brought him over a fresh pair of scrubs. She appeared pleasant enough, until she told him to put off slipping on the new clothes. She wanted him to wear a paper gown until the doctor finished checking him over. Between being wet and the ungodly air conditioning, he sat frozen. So that wasn’t just no to the wait, it was hell no.

Without a word, he stood up, shucked his clothes, including his muddy boxer briefs. The nurse stared slack jawed, never turning away. He didn’t care—he got what he needed—warmth. Dressed in the scrubs and feeling a lot better, he peered at her and smiled, then sat down, prepared to wait.

Activity in his space continued nonstop. Nurses took his pulse, his temperature, and checked if he needed anything—he told them he just needed a doctor.

He got into the hospital at around 09:30 A.M., and it was close to 01:00 P.M. by the time he finished with the doctor. His final diagnosis was nothing broken, just banged up pretty bad. He needed to be monitored in case he suffered a concussion, and since he wouldn’t stay in the hospital, he promised he’d come back if any symptoms developed. One of his worst wounds was on his hand where he had punched the guy.

Before he’d met with the doctor, Noah had given the police his statement, then they had disappeared. The police came back into Noah’s cubby right after the doctor left. “We were able to get in touch with your friend. He should be here soon. We also got the witnesses’ stories. And based on what you all said, we have a description of the guy who attacked you—it’s somewhat sketchy, but we might luck out.”

Noah wouldn’t hold his breath. He understood the chances of finding the other guy were slim to none, with the likelihood dwindling the longer the bastard was at large. What kept Noah from wallowing over that fact was his discovering people were still willing to step up when someone else required their help. Even if the bystanders had come across Noah in the middle of the fight, when Noah had been pummeling—their word—the other guy, and automatically assumed Noah was the aggressor. Therefore, they’d held on to him until the police arrived. The fact they’d stepped in at all had hope welling up in Noah.

“A couple of the good Samaritans, upset they’d grabbed onto the wrong guy, called the police station a short while ago. The answering officer assured them you were okay, and that under the circumstances you were fine,” the officer told Noah.

Noah thought better they did something rather than nothing.

The nurse Noah nicknamed Pokey stuck her head through the curtain. At first, he thought she came back to torture him, and he wanted to yell. Instead, she reached over and handed him a prescription from the doctor.

“Something for later.” Sympathy was evident in her voice. “You’re going to be in a lot of pain.”

He took the piece of paper and thanked her. He wouldn’t end up using it, though. He’d fought more, fought harder, and he always survived. This time would be no different.