Capture & Surrender (Market Garden, #5)(51)

Mike glanced at him, eyes wide.

“I’ll play paintball with anyone who can hold up a marker.” Chris adjusted his mask again. “But that? Fuck no. I’m out here to have fun and get laid, not get AIDS, thanks.”

Frank blinked.

Brandon looked at Chris. Frank. Chris again.

Then he threw up his free hand. “Fine. Whatever.” Brandon tore off the red armband and let it flutter to the ground as he stormed off.

Frank couldn’t move. Follow Brandon? Chew Chris out? What the f*ck was he supposed to do now? And how did Chris know?

Mike put a hand on his arm. “Go make sure he’s cooled down. I’ll handle this one.”

Frank nodded. He jogged after Brandon. The kid’s strides were long and fast, and Frank had to break into a faster run to catch up with him.

“Hey. You okay?”

“I’m fine.” Brandon put his barrel cover on with enough force that he almost snapped one of the elastic ties. “I think I’m done for the day.”

“Quite honestly, I think he’s going to be done for the day. Once Geoff catches wind of that, Chris is going to be—”

“That’s fine.” Brandon’s voice was softer now, not quite even. “But I don’t think I’m in the mood to play.”

Frank’s heart sank. He put a hand on Brandon’s shoulder, and his heart sank a little deeper when Brandon shrugged away. “Brandon . . .”

Brandon stopped. The glare on his mask almost obscured his features, but Frank could still see him close his eyes for a moment. Then he looked at Frank through their masks. “Just . . . give me a minute, okay?”

“I . . . okay.”

Brandon walked away. Frank watched him, not sure he could have followed if he’d wanted to. His chest ached as he watched the kid go, and that ache turned to fury as he heard escalating shouts behind him. Chris’s voice. Mike’s. Someone else’s. There was no paintball fire going on. Just shouting. And there was Geoff heading Chris’s way, so this thing would be settled one way or another in short order.

Up ahead of him, Brandon crossed the boundary from the field to the ready area. He tore off his mask and threw it. It hit something solid, the impact making Frank jump, but Brandon didn’t even flinch. He dropped his gun on one of the folding tables and ran a gloved hand through his hair as he sank onto one of the chairs. Elbows on his knees, he rubbed his neck with both hands.

Frank grimaced as he watched him. He glanced back at the others. There was still plenty of shouting going on. Sharp gestures, Geoff stabbing Chris in the chest with a gloved finger. It was impossible to see faces with everyone wearing masks, but the body language and elevated voices said enough.

Frank was tempted to go back out there and give Chris a piece of his mind, but with the way that exchange had affected Brandon, Frank was as likely to give Chris a piece of his fist. Better to let Geoff handle it.

He headed towards the ready area. Brandon didn’t look up.

Brandon’s mask was on the ground against one of the coolers. Frank picked it up, dusted it off, and walked over to Brandon.

“You okay?”

Brandon nodded. Sighing, he sat back and looked up at Frank, and Frank’s stomach twisted as he caught a glimpse of the Brandon he’d seen in his dream a few nights ago.

“So the guys here know?” Brandon asked. “About you?”

“Geoff and Mike do.” Frank handed Brandon his mask, then took off his own. “Apparently they aren’t the only ones. I don’t disclose unless it becomes important.”

Brandon held his mask in his lap, idly thumbing the strap as he stared at the grass with unfocused eyes. “I’m sorry. For causing it to—”

“Don’t you dare apologise for anything.” Frank sat beside Brandon and put an arm around his shoulders. “It wasn’t your fault.” He pulled his hand back, took off his glove, and put his arm around Brandon again. This time, he stroked Brandon’s hair with his fingertips. “Maybe it’s better that the guys know about me, but I’m sorry you had to deal with that.” Because now the story would spread. Hot as Chris was, Frank didn’t trust him as far as he could kick him up a hill.

Brandon sighed, and Frank was afraid he’d recoil again, but Brandon tugged off his glove with his teeth and then put his hand on Frank’s leg. “I guess this kind of thing happens.” He met Frank’s eyes. “That’s the game we’re playing.”

Only I pulled you in on my side, and there are things here I can’t protect you from. “That’s what’s driven me so deep underground. Easier to . . . deal with than . . .” He gestured aimlessly. “This. It’s not that I don’t like playing, it’s what happens if I win. Or lose. That freaks me the f*ck out.”

“Did you use to play?”

“Before I caught it? No.”

“Any idea where . . .?” Brandon still touched him. Touch. The main thing he’d been afraid to lose when he’d told people about the results. That nobody would ever touch him again, kiss him again, even hold him again. That people would be freaking out over using his cutlery, his mugs, that people would freak out just being anywhere near him. He’d thought he could live without sex, but not without touch.

He sighed and kept his voice so low nobody but Brandon could hear him, and even Brandon needed to lean closer. “Best guess? In prison.”