by Abigail Roux
“Yeah?” Deuce asked in what sounded like honest surprise. Whether it was surprise that Zane knew that or surprise that his brother was afraid of things, Zane didn’t know. “Like what?” Deuce asked.
Zane didn’t look away from Ty as he resisted the urge to touch him, just his arm, his shoulder, something to reassure himself that Ty really was there and breathing. “The mines, for one,” he answered. “Seems reasonable to me. Small, dark spaces to get trapped in.”
Deuce watched Zane as he sat down beside the bed again. “He tell you that?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Zane glanced up as he slid his hands in his pockets. It was easier to keep them to himself that way. “I made the mistake of waking him up once, when he was doing this.” He nodded down to Ty’s active sleeping. “Figured it was a bad dream.”
“Made the mistake,” Deuce echoed. “What happened?”
Zane finally looked over at Deuce. “Oh, he didn’t hit me or anything before he woke up,” he said as the corner of his mouth turned up. “But he sure was cranky once I got his attention.” His eyes slid back to Ty. It had to be the IV keeping him under now, he thought clinically. Ty usually woke up in a snap if he sensed someone close. That, or he wasn’t getting better, and that didn’t bear thinking about at all.
“You’re lucky you just got cranky instead of hit,” Deuce told him fondly.
“Yeah,” Zane agreed. “After he woke up, we had a talk about things we were afraid of. How we might die. Heights. Small places with bugs,” he listed off.
Deuce smiled and nodded. He looked back down at Ty, but the smile fell as he watched his brother toss and turn. “Ty has a lot of bad dreams,” he said to Zane, his voice sad.
Zane wondered what Deuce expected him to say about that. Of course, the man had no idea that Zane was living with the same problem. “That’s why he keeps quiet, you know.”
Deuce looked up at him, still frowning. “Why?” he asked.
“So you don’t have bad dreams. So your mom and dad don’t have bad dreams.”
Deuce looked at him for a long time before the corner of his mouth twitched into a smile. He nodded and returned his attention to Ty. “You know him better than you think you do,” he said thoughtfully. “You want something to drink?” he asked as he pushed himself out of his chair.
“Yeah, sure,” Zane answered as he rolled his shoulders back and realized he still had his jacket on from his last cigarette break. He shrugged out of it and tossed it over the small rolling tray table that had been pushed to the side.
“Back in a minute,” Deuce said to him as he left, patting Ty’s bare foot as he passed the end of the bed.
Ty groaned as the door to the room clicked when Deuce opened it, and his foot twitched where he’d been touched. Zane shook his head. The last time they’d been together in a hospital room, it had been him in the bed. He remembered it hazily because he’d been so drugged. But he could still see the upset expression on Ty’s face when he’d announced that he had to leave while Zane had to stay. He remembered a short, gentle kiss. And he remembered the guilt on Ty’s face when he’d told Ty to go while he was too drugged to stop him.
Sighing, Zane paced around the bed and sat in the chair crammed between the bed and the window. As he sat down, the chair jarred the bed a little. Ty flailed under the thin hospital sheet, both arms and both feet coming off the bed like a baby who’d been startled. His IV rattled, and the plastic side rails of the bed banged noisily as Ty gasped and tried to sit up.
Zane leaned forward. “Be careful,” he cautioned. He reached to try to catch Ty’s flailing arm and save the IV. “It’s okay; you’re okay.”
Ty hissed as the IV tugged, and he put his hand over the line and looked up at Zane accusingly. Rolling his eyes, Zane sat back. “Welcome back to the land of the living.”
Ty responded with a grunt as he looked down at the cast on his hand and the IV in his arm. He looked around at the room and then over at Zane with narrowed eyes. “Hungry,” he muttered, his voice rough and hoarse. “You ate my lunch, huh?” he asked.
“And it was yummy too,” Zane drawled. He was relieved to find that Ty must have remembered the last time he woke when they’d told him what had happened. Ty had not taken it well when he’d been told the cast would have to stay on his hand for a minimum of three weeks, and Zane had been dreading the possibility of having to tell him again. There was a chipped bone in there somewhere, and the doctors wanted the entire hand immobilized just to keep any infections from spreading further as the antibiotics did their job.
Ty glared briefly before allowing a slow smile. His eyes drifted closed, and his shoulders slowly began to relax. “How long have I been asleep?” he asked as he forced his eyes open again.
“Twelve hours, give or take,” Zane said as he leaned back in the chair. “How much better than roadkill do you feel?”
“Depends,” Ty muttered. “Never felt roadkill.”
Zane’s lips quirked as he leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees. “Deuce is real torn up,” he said seriously. He wasn’t even going to mention Earl.
Ty’s chin jerked to the side, and he looked at Zane with wide eyes. “Why, what happened?” he asked worriedly.
“Over you, jackass.” Zane bit back the rest of what he was about to say before shaking his head. “It was close. We almost didn’t get you here in time.”
A hurt look flashed through Ty’s eyes before he looked away, concentrating on the hand that was resting in his lap instead. “Oh,” he responded, abashed.
“Yeah, oh.” Zane rubbed at his eyes again. He would have to sleep soon. He hadn’t managed more than a few minutes stolen here and there since reaching the hospital, and he’d never slept more than a couple hours at a time on the mountain. He was still too jumpy, even being so exhausted. All he wanted was Ty in a bed next to him and a week to do nothing. “He wasn’t the only one worried,” he muttered, although he figured Ty wouldn’t appreciate it.
Ty glanced at him and winced. “Wasn’t exactly the relaxing vacation it was supposed to be,” he agreed slowly as he began to poke at the plaster of his cast and pluck at the tufts of gauze sticking out of it.
Zane just had to chuckle. “No, it hasn’t been. Christ.” He shut his eyes and leaned back against the chair.
“Well, it would’ve been,” Ty insisted under his breath. He sniffed and looked around before asking, “They go home?” He sounded forlorn.
“No. Deuce is getting us drinks. Mara’s back home with Chester, but she’s coming back soon. And Earl’s taking a walk.”
Ty sighed and closed his eyes, resting back into the bed. “Taking a walk, huh?” he asked, resigned.
“Would you please look at me?” Zane asked. Ty needed to understand how Earl was reacting to this mess. If he chose to keep lying to him after, that was his business. Ty forced his eyes open and turned his head to look over at Zane blearily. “He’s not angry,” Zane said. “He’s upset about what happened up on that mountain and about what he said to you. All this hospital shit just put some lovely little icing swirls on that apple pie of your mom’s. Understand?”
Ty stared at him blankly for several beats before frowning. “Someone brought pie?” he finally asked in confusion.
Zane stared at him passively for a long moment before standing up and walking around the bed. “All right, lay back down,” he murmured, pulling the pillows back into a pile for Ty to lean against. “I should’ve remembered you’re still drugged to the gills. And I forgot what you’ve said about meds making you funny sometimes.”
Ty made a noise of agreement and carefully turned onto his side, taking advantage of Zane’s help to find a more comfortable position. “They don’t make me funny,” Ty argued. “I’m always funny,” he told Zane as he fingered the IV line. Then he turned his face up to look at Zane. “Do I get any of the pie?” he asked earnestly as he reached up to pull out the oxygen line that rested under his nose.
The rest of the irritation drai
ned out of Zane as he calmly retrieved the line and replaced it. “Yeah, sure,” he answered, straightening out the sheet so it wasn’t bunched up around Ty’s legs. When he was done, he reached out to rest the backs of his fingers against Ty’s forehead.
Ty’s eyes fluttered closed at the contact, and he gave a heavy sigh. He didn’t even try to pull out the oxygen line again. “Tell Dad I’m sorry,” he requested sleepily.
“Don’t worry about that right now,” Zane chided gently as he rubbed along the beard Ty had grown. In his opinion, it was Earl that owed the apology. Only a real fool would call Ty a coward in any situation. Ty nodded, but it was obvious that he was already drifting off again. “It’s all right,” Zane murmured, still petting. “It’ll keep.”
Behind him, someone cleared his throat softly to announce his presence, and when Zane turned, Deuce smiled slightly at him. “Got you a Coke,” he said as he held out a bottle. “Was he awake?”
Zane shuffled a little as he straightened, surprised that he’d been caught off guard. But Ty had a way of holding all his attention. He accepted the bottle with a nod. “Thanks,” he said, wondering what, if anything, Deuce might have seen.
Deuce twisted off the cap to his own bottle as he walked around the end of the bed, his head down and a small, worried smile on his face. “It’s more than convenience, isn’t it?” he asked Zane as he sat down.
“What’s more than convenience?” Zane was deliberately obtuse as he opened his own bottle.
“You and my brother,” Deuce answered bluntly.
“As partners, it’s generally advisable that you at least tolerate each other most of the time,” Zane spun out. “Sometimes it takes more effort than others.”
“You’re not as good at evading a question as he is,” Deuce advised with a nod at Ty. “He knows there’s no pie,” he told Zane with a small smile.
“You sure about that?” Zane asked, raising an eyebrow.
Deuce shrugged and leaned forward to put a hand gently on Ty’s shoulder. Ty twitched with the contact and muttered something unintelligible. Deuce pursed his lips and looked back up at Zane. “He knew the drugs would get him soon. He was just stalling until he fell back asleep. He’ll never talk about dad to anyone. Never has, never will.” He leaned back and threw his feet up onto the edge of the bed. “I’m not trying to put you in a tight spot,” he assured Zane quietly, reverting back to their other discussion. “I’ve just never met anyone he was serious about,” he explained.
Zane forced himself not to react, to just take a drink. Serious. Then he let himself look at Deuce. “And you think you have now?”
Deuce shrugged nonchalantly. “When I say never, Zane, I mean it. I’ve known him all my life. He never had a junior high crush. He never had a high school sweetheart. Even when he was in service and going through college, there was no one he was even remotely hung up on. There was always something more important to him than being in a relationship. The Corps. His Bronco. Football. His favorite Crayola sleeping bag,” he said with a hint of a smile. “I like you, man. I think you must be good for him. But just remember what I’m telling you before you start thinking too hard. I don’t think he’d even know what to do with himself if he loved someone.”
Zane’s heart tried to pound harder, and he took a slow, steady breath, reminding himself that Deuce’s comment about love didn’t apply to him. He still had to swallow hard. “I know what’s important to him,” he finally settled on. “And his partner’s not at the top of the list.” He actually gave Deuce an honest, though wry, smile.
Deuce returned it with a sad one of his own and looked down at his brother once more. He waited for a moment before glancing back up at Zane. “I would argue differently,” he stated finally. “Just don’t let Dad find out,” he advised in a near whisper.
“You know, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Zane muttered, turning his gaze back to Ty, who was tossing fitfully again. Zane thought his own stomach was tossing just as badly now as he looked at his partner. At his lover.
“Yeah, I get that a lot,” Deuce replied with a long-suffering sigh before taking a drink from his bottle of Mountain Dew.
“Because there’s no way I’d willingly talk to a shrink about my partner,” Zane added, still not looking at Deuce as his hand crunched the plastic Coke bottle a little.
“Certainly not,” Deuce agreed amiably. “Not that you have anything you need to get off your chest, anyway, am I right?” he said.
“Not a thing. All is right in the world,” Zane continued, making himself ignore the tightness in his chest and focus on what he and Ty did best. “And Ty and I might just get through two days without a fight. Now, I said ‘might’, mind you.” He looked at his watch. “Two hours to go. It’ll be a new record.”
“You fight a lot, then?” Deuce asked in a casual tone.
“That’s an understatement,” Zane groused before taking another swallow of his drink.
“Is this on-the-job fighting or after hours?” Deuce inquired curiously.
“I have yet to determine that there is any difference.” Zane paused. “Any appreciable difference,” he corrected himself, thinking about how they got along at the office as opposed to in the bed in his hotel suite.
“I gather it’s not unresolved sexual tension,” Deuce observed. “Could it be, deep down, maybe you enjoy the fighting?” he suggested in an offhand manner.
Zane snorted. “It’s not deep down. We really do enjoy… fighting.” He made himself take another drink to stop the smile, his eyes still focused on Ty. God, he wished Ty would wake up and argue with him right now. It would go a long way toward reassuring him that Ty was going to be okay. He could really go for a good fight, one where they yelled about something stupid and pushed each other around and ended up fucking each other silly and then holding each other all night after. He remembered their quiet talk in front of the fire in the trail cabin, where he’d deliberately told Ty something about himself that he knew full well Ty would take advantage of. More ammunition.
“So your observation that you may go forty-eight hours without a fight is actually one of disappointment,” Deuce surmised clinically. “The way you express your appreciation of each other is through insults and barbs. Once you start being nice to each other, it signifies an ebb in interest,” he pointed out with a smirk.
“We’re never nice to each oth—” Zane cut himself off and twitched. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Ty, even knowing Deuce was watching, and Zane knew right then and there that he wouldn’t be giving Ty up without a fight. Ever. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before turning a glare on Deuce.
Deuce merely raised one eyebrow and smiled in return. “And how does that make you feel, Special Agent Garrett?” he asked in a slow drawl.
Zane rolled his eyes, reached out, and popped Deuce on the back of the head, just like his mom did. “Asshole,” he muttered as he tried to suppress the panic threatening at the edge of his awareness.
Deuce laughed softly and twisted the cap back onto his bottle. “You’re welcome,” he said smugly.
“You better hope he’s really asleep,” Zane threatened.
“Because you don’t want him knowing how you feel about him?” Deuce asked.
Zane’s shoulders tightened. “He knows enough. Why else would we fight all the time?”
Deuce examined him for a long while before turning his eyes back to his sleeping brother. “I don’t know about that. Has he already started being nice to you?” he asked gently.
“We have our moments,” Zane allowed reluctantly, knowing he was contradicting himself.
“And you don’t know if that’s just him being a decent human being or if it’s that he’s lost interest in trying to goad you on,” Deuce supplied softly.
Tipping his head sideways, Zane met Deuce’s eyes. “We’re partners. We don’t have to be at each other’s throats all the time,” he said with a slight shrug.
Deuce sat with his feet still propp
ed on the bed and his arm resting on the side of the chair. He ran his finger back and forth across his lower lip as he watched Zane. “Ty has a protective streak a mile wide,” he finally said. “He always has. He takes a lot on himself. He doesn’t like to be leaned on because he’s terrified of letting people down. So being charged with protecting something, especially if it’s a job he’s not sure he can do, it’s something that weighs heavy on him. So when he has a choice, he only protects the things he holds close to his heart,” Deuce continued, giving his chest a pat.
“And?”
“That’s for you to figure out, Zane,” Deuce answered with a shrug.
Zane didn’t have anything else to say. He was pretty sure Ty cared about him, just as he cared about Ty. They were partners. They watched out for one another. They depended on each other. Only Zane was finding himself more and more attached to Ty—and that was something that scared him.
Deuce sat silently as Zane mulled it over, the hiss of his bottle cap as he twisted it off the only sound he made. “I’ll send Ty the bill,” he finally said with a small smile.
Chapter 17
“SHOULD he be traveling as sick as he is?” Mara Grady asked worriedly as she fussed back and forth between Ty and the pies she was preparing in the kitchen. “Maybe he should stay here until he’s feeling better.”
“I’m feeling better, Ma,” Ty called out from where he sat on the couch, covered in blankets and holding a mug of hot chocolate his mother had shoved into his hands.
“You are not,” she insisted from the kitchen as she banged a pie plate onto the counter and began rattling utensils and plates.
“God hates me,” Ty muttered from under one of the heavy quilts she had draped over him.
Zane snorted from where he was sprawled in a rocking chair across from the couch, under an afghan of his own. Mara had taken to mothering him too. “If God hated you that cat would have bitten you somewhere more sensitive,” he said, teasing.
“Yeah, wait ’til the drugs wear off and I can tell which one of you is real,” Ty grumbled at him. He sniffed at the air as the smell of apple pie began to waft to them.