Page 92 of Fool Me Twice
Hart approached him, fretting. “What’s wrong?”
“Fucking you after getting my ribs tenderized wasn’t exactly the smartest decision I ever made, let’s just say that.”
Hart didn’t feel guilty or ashamed. That would be a ‘normal’ reaction, wouldn’t it? He wondered briefly why that was before the thought drifted away.
“Do you want ice?”
“If that ice comes with beer poured over it.”
Hart grabbed the first aid kit and broke a couple of the instant ice packs in there. He walked over to Cane’s side and pulled his shirt up, placing the cold packs against his skin. Cane hissed, either from the pressure or the sting, but he reached up to hold them in place. His eyes found Hart’s face.
“Taking care of me, sweetheart?”
Hart flushed, feeling a fierce, foreign edge to the starburst in his chest that made his heart hammer in a dangerous arrhythmia.
He wanted Cane to be well. It was like it had become an imperative suddenly hardwired into his brain. But he also wanted to do harm to those who had done this in the first place. He was already thinking up ways. How he could find them. What he could do…
A knock at the door snapped him out of the spiral. Hart’s head jerked around, his thoughts falling silent, but still lurking insidiously inside his head.
He moved to the door and opened it up, finding Black on the other side with a pink rhinestone case under his arm. Behind him stood Ash with a thunderous expression.
“You’re not welcome,” Hart told him, the voice in the back of his head placing the words straight on the tip of his tongue to be delivered. “Black, come in.”
Ash sputtered as Black slipped past easily, his small frame fitting neatly through the gap between the door and Hart’s body.
“What the fuck, Hart?!” Ash exclaimed. “What the hell is going on?”
“I’ll explain it later.”
“Explain now!” Ash growled, eyes darkening. “You disappear from work without a word about where the hell you’re going, and then you turn back up with Cane, covered in blood might I add, and an armful of his stuff like this is some hotel. Everyone is here. They want to know what the fuck is going on.”
Hart blinked. He hadn’t realized everyone was home.
To be honest, he hadn’t thought of much. He’d moved up to his room with Cane as if in a haze. He still felt murky now, swimming in his own head and trying to find dry land. He pressed a finger to the ever-present headache in his temple.
“Hey, Ash.” Morgan’s voice came from the direction of Ash’s bedroom. The smaller man approached his boyfriend dressed in his usual knitted cardigan that reached his studded boots and black everything else. He laid a hand on Ash’s arm. “Calm down, Cursebreaker.”
“He just—”
Morgan reached into the pocket on Ash’s thigh and dug around until he pulled out a golden lighter and a lollipop. He placed the lighter in Ash’s hand, then unwrapped the sucker and stuck it straight into Ash’s open mouth.
“There you go,” Morgan said, making Ash sag a little in defeated acceptance, before glancing at Hart surreptitiously. Hart had no idea what those dark eyes were saying. If they were judging him. Cursing him out. Sympathizing.
“Just…gather everyone in the living room and I’ll explain it then,” Hart said, needing them both to go away.
Then he slammed the door.
He turned to see Black eyeing him strangely. “That was rude.”
“Like you haven’t done it before,” Hart said.
“Exactly,” Black said slowly. “I would have done it.”
Hart glanced over to see Cane was also frowning in his direction. Hart rubbed his temples harder, fighting the oppressive pain. Couldn’t everyone get off his case already? Like he didn’t offer them enough already. “Can we not do this right now?”
Black pursed his lips but nodded, turning to Cane. “So what have we got?”
“I just need the cut on my face stitched. The fractured ribs will have to be wrapped or treated by a caster,” Cane said.