Even with the warning, his fingertips felt like they were being burned off when he took the mug. Tucking his elbows in, Damien took a moment to inhale the scent of the creamy coffee. Taking a sip was a deadly risk, but his tongue thanked him for it, even as he was mourning the loss of his taste buds from the scald. The heat trickled down his throat and spread out through his chest, easing some of the ache along his scar.
It was enough of a relief he dared another drink, nearly searing his uvula in his haste to warm up inside.
“Hey, take it easy there,” Sionn cautioned. “You’re going to burn your throat out.”
He almost threw out an invitation for Sionn to slide other things down his throat, but Damien stopped his tongue from rolling off the come-on. The worry on Sionn’s face was sweeter than the coffee he’d been given, and Damien lowered the cup into his lap. He didn’t know what to do with the sweet. Other than Miki, there’d never been anyone who’d actually given a complete shit about what happened to him. Even Johnny and Dave, as close as they’d all been, didn’t match the depth of feeling he shared with Miki. Now Sionn seemed to be creeping in, sliding under the walls Damien hadn’t even realized he had.
And unlike Miki, the man sitting next to him did not feel like a brother.
“Drink that, take the aspirin on the nightstand, and get some sleep,” Sionn murmured. “We don’t have to be at my uncle’s house for hours yet.”
“I’m not sleepy.” Sure, he sounded like a three-year-old arguing over a nap, but Damien didn’t want Sionn to leave.
“That’s why you were snoring when I came in? Only reason I woke you is to get something warm in you.” Sionn crooked a dusky eyebrow at him.
“Oh, the things I could have said to that,” Damien grumbled back at him. “Come on. Keep me company. My head’s buzzing. There’s so much fucking stuff going on in my brain. I can’t even sort some of it out.”
“What do you remember?” Sionn padded over to the other side of the bed and carefully slid in over the blankets. “Because you sure as hell didn’t remember the guy shooting at you.”
“Yeah, can I get a pass on that for a bit?” He winced. “I’m sorry, okay? Nothing happened.”
“I’d hate for something to happen.” The man’s eyes turned stormy, their gray darkening. “Mostly because Browne wants you for questioning, you know. For the shooting. You bailed before he could talk to you.”
“What was I going to tell him?” Damien picked up the aspirin, tossed them onto his tongue, then sipped at the coffee again. It was still too hot to take large gulps, but the small bits of warmth were enough for him. “Hello, Inspector. No, I don’t have ID, and oh, by the way, I think I’m some rock god, but I’m scared that if you run my prints, I’ll find out that I’m actually some runaway mental patient from Montana? Yeah, I wasn’t ready for that.”
“You could have told me that, boyo,” Sionn admonished. “I’d have helped you. Hell, I’m helping you now.”
“Yeah, and look what that got you. Your pub got shot up.”
“Most excitement that place has had since we hosted Drag Queen Strip Bingo.” The man’s off-kilter grin made Damien snort. “Talk to me, Damie. What is going on in that crazy mind of yours?”
He leaned back, trying to sort out the sheer glut of images and emotions rushing at him. There was too much grit piling up on him, choking out some of the softer memories. Stretching out his legs, Damien put his coffee on the nightstand and scrubbed his cheeks to get some feeling back into his skin.
“I remember my parents. Sort of. Mostly how they were. How they felt.” He would start there, at the most painful place in his memories. “I remember them… hurting me. I can see them hurting me, but it’s fuzzy a bit. Like, they were so angry… about everything… even me.”
“Are they the ones who put those scars on you? On your legs and back?” Sionn’s accusation against his parents was soft, but the words stung deep. “Because those are some nasty bits of work, Damie boy.”
He’d wondered about the lines across his thighs, too slender and old to be from the accident. Through the headache and pain, he now knew where they’d come from. How did he explain to Sionn about the years-long terror he’d grown up in? Or how he’d feared his father calling him over, even when the man’s voice was treacle and honey. Those times were the worst. With his father’s words often cloaked in false kindness, he’d never been sure if there would be praise or blood.
And mostly he hadn’t cared. He’d been willing to take the risk. Time and time again. Through the bright bursts of pain along his body when his father would strike out at him, the risk was worth it.
Just for those rare times when he’d gotten an arm around his shoulders and he’d been crushed against the man’s round belly in a tight hug.
God, he’d have done anything for a drop of his father’s approval.