Tag watched him from the corner chair in the bedroom, a bottle of bourbon nearly touching the floor as it dangled from his fingers. For the first time since Justice arrived at the cabin, he looked like he had before that day four years ago when Itor had destroyed their lives. Gone was the steely-eyed, guarded agent who could so easily have shot Ian and tossed him out for the wolves, just as he’d said. Now, in deep slumber, Justice looked peaceful. Relaxed. And even with the bandages, he looked sexy as hell. Taggart could still remember the first time he’d thought of Justice in that way. At least, the first time he’d admitted to himself that he was attracted to the other boy. They’d been seventeen, and Justice was sleeping over because his mom was helping out a friend, and they’d needed his room for a few nights. Tag and Justice had slept in the same room often enough, and it wasn’t a big deal for the two of them to share a bed when they had to.
